THE  FIELDS  OF 
THE  FATHERLESS 

JEAN  ROY 


THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 
BY  JEAN  ROY 


.  Of  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELE* 


THE  FIELDS  OF 
THE  FATHERLESS 


BY 

JEAN  ROY 


Enter  not  into  the  fields  of  the  fatherless, 
for  their  Redeemer  is  mighty;  He  shall  plead 
their  cause  with  thee. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1918, 
By  George  H,  Dor  an  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I.  MY  HOME        - 

II.  THE  WEE  FOLK 

III.  THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT  - 

IV.  THE  DEAF  MUTE     - 
V.  THE  TRIP 

VI.  MY  MOTHER  - 

VII.  AT  THE  FAIR 

VIII.  THE  STIGMA  - 

IX.  WE  GET  A  PIANO     - 

X.  THE  PANTOMIME     - 

XI.  MY    MOTHER    AGAIN 

XII.  AT  WORK  IN  GLASGOW    - 

XIII.  NEW    LODGINGS       - 

XIV.  QUEER  TALES 
XV.  IN  A  TEA-ROOM 

XVI.  WORKING  IN  A  MILL 

XVII.  I  LEAVE  MY  HOME  - 

XVIII.  LOOKING   FOR   WORK 

xix.  IN  A  SERVANTS'  REGISTRY 

XX.  I   BECOME   BARMAID 

XXI.  LIFE  IN  A   HOSPITAL 

XXII.  THE  DOCTOR 

XXIII.  A  SHORT  ILLNESS     - 

V 


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VI 
CHAPTER 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 


CONTENTS 

MY  MOTHER  VISITS  ME  - 

THE    STRANGE    WOMAN   - 

A  NIGHT  OF  FEAR  - 

LIZZIE    - 

BOOKS    - 

I  BECOME  A  STEWARDESS 

THE    MOTOR    LAUNCH      - 

DEATH  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER 

JACK   DIES      - 

OUR  HOME  BROKEN  UP    - 

GRANNY  AND  THE  CINEMA 

FINIS      - 


PAGE 
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301 

3°4 


THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 


CHAPTER  I 

i 

MY  HOME 

I've  learned  to  judge  of  men  by  their  own  deeds, 
I  do  not  make  the  accident  of  birth 
The  standard  of  their  merit, 

MRS.  HALE. 

WE  lived  in  a  little  village  by  the  sea.  My  earliest 
recollection  is  of  a  house  facing  the  water.  It  was  a 
queer  old  house.  The  entrance  was  through  a  narrow 
alley.  Turning  to  the  right,  one  went  down  two  steps, 
and  into  an  open,  paved  passage,  which  was  exclusively 
our  own.  At  the  end  of  it  was  our  door  in  a  little  porch, 
formed  by  an  outside  stair,  which  led  to  the  houses 
above. 

We  were  very  proud  of  our  entrance,  and  kept  the 
flags  scrubbed  white  with  sandstone.  We  had  a  long 
stool  at  the  door,  painted  green  with  a  row  of  potted 
geraniums  on  it.  On  one  side,  the  kitchen  window 
looked  into  the  passage.  Facing  it  there  was  a  wall 
about  four  feet  high.  Back  about  a  foot  and  a  half  on 
the  ground,  which  was  level  with  the  top  of  the  wall,  a 


10  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

wooden  paling,  painted  green,  ran  along  the  length  of 
the  passage. 

There  was  one  drawback  however.  When  it  rained, 
all  the  muddy  water  came  through  the  paling  on  to  our 
clean  flags,  and  left  them  in  a  puddle.  At  night,  there 
used  to  be  a  thick  fringe  of  long,  slimy  worms  along  the 
top  of  the  wall.  We  would  get  a  handful  of  salt,  sprin- 
kle it  along  and  they  would  disappear  like  lightning. 

Standing  at  the  house  door,  one  could  see  right  into 
the  room.  The  lobby  was  short  and  narrow.  The 
kitchen  was  just  beside  the  house  door,  to  the  right.  It 
was  very  small,  and  had  a  concealed  bed.  There  was 
a  door  in  the  kitchen  leading  to  a  tiny  room  which 
served  as  a  bedroom  for  my  two  sisters  and  me. 

It  was  always  dark  in  there,  the  only  light  it  had 
coming  from  a  small  window  looking  into  the  public 
alley.  The  window  was  high  up,  but  by  putting  a  chair 
on  the  bed,  and  standing  on  top,  I  could  push  my  shoul- 
ders through,  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sea. 

Another  advantage  we  had,  though  perhaps  an  un- 
worthy one,  was,  that  when  people  stood  in  the  alley  to 
talk,  if  the  window  were  open  we  could  hear  all  they 
said  without  being  seen.  Very  often  we  heard  unflat- 
tering remarks  about  ourselves. 

On  a  Saturday,  if  I  could  slip  in  to  the  window  when 
it  was  dark,  I  got  great  fun  watching  the  drunk  men 
coming  up  the  alley.  There  was  a  big  tenement  at  the 
back,  and  the  alley  was  the  only  entrance.  They  would 
come  up  holding  on  to  the  walls.  Just  when  they  were 
underneath  the  window,  I  would  tip  off  their  hats  with 
a  little  stick.  They  would  curse  and  swear,  and  fall  all 
over  the  alley,  in  the  search  for  their  headgear.  Some- 


MY  HOME  11 

times  I  would  put  a  white  apron  on  my  head,  whiten  my 
face,  and  stand  close  to  the  window.  Perhaps  a  woman 
would  come  up  with  messages.  She  would  happen  to 
glance  at  the  window,  then  give  such  a  jump,  and  run  up 
the  passage  like  the  wind. 

At  times  my  game  would  be  rudely  interrupted  by  my 
grandfather's  voice  behind  me,  shouting  angrily. 

"Whit  the  divil  are  ye  wantin'  up  there?" 

"I  was  lookin'  if  the  window  was  snibbed,"  I  would 
answer  innocently. 

"Snib  it  then,  an'  come  to  the  kitchen  out  o'  there," 
he  would  say  unsuspiciously. 

I  was  the  youngest  of  the  family.  There  were  seven 
of  us  in  the  house,  my  father,  mother,  my  sisters  Meg 
and  Ann,  and  my  brother  Jack.  At  least  I  always 
called  them  so,  but  I  knew  that  in  reality  they  were  my 
grandparents,  and  my  aunts  and  uncle.  I  was  the  ille- 
gitimate child  of  an  older  daughter.  She  was  a  bar- 
maid, and  before  I  was  a  year  old,  she  eloped  with  her 
master.  She  was  in  London.  We  used  to  get  letters 
from  her  sometimes.  My  grandparents  felt  the  dis- 
grace terribly.  Her  name  was  hardly  ever  mentioned. 
Sometimes  when  they  were  in  bed,  and  thought  no  one 
listening,  I  have  heard  them  speak  bitterly  of  the  shame 
she  had  brought  on  them.  I  was  never  told  anything, 
but  I  gathered  it  from  what  I  had  overheard. 

We  had  a  relation  of  my  grandmother's  staying  with 
us.  Barney  was  his  name.  He  was  a  gardener.  Though 
up  in  years,  he  was  jolly,  and  fond  of  a  joke.  Some- 
times we  kept  two  lodgers.  Then  Jack  and  Barney  got 
our  bed  in  the  little  room,  and  my  sisters  and  I  slept  on 
a  shake  down  on  the  floor. 


12  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

When  the  bed  was  spread  down,  there  was  so  little 
room,  that  we  had  to  stand  on  it  to  undress  ourselves. 
Barney  was  generally  in  bed  long  before  us.  When  we 
went  to  bed,  he  would  be  snoring.  He  was  a  frightful 
snorer.  There  would  be  a  long  drawn,  gurgling  sound, 
as  if  he  were  choking,  then  a  great  gasp.  It  was  most 
eerie  to  listen  to  him. 

It  was  always  late  when  my  brother  came  in.  When 
he  lay  down,  he  used  to  prod  Barney  in  the  ribs,  to  make 
him  stop  snoring.  Barney  would  get  mad,  and  that 
made  us  laugh. 

"Who  the  divil  could  sleep,  an'  you's  yelpin'  away 
there,"  he  would  mutter  angrily. 

In  five  minutes  he  would  be  at  it  again  as  bad  as 
ever. 

I  have  always  had  a  great  love  of  the  sea.  I  liked  to 
sit  in  the  big  room  facing  the  water.  We  never  reached 
the  dignity  of  a  parlour.  It  was  always  the  'big  room' 
and  the  'wee  room'.  I  sat  at  the  window,  and  listened 
to  the  noise  of  the  waves  on  the  shore.  I  liked  it  best 
on  stormy  days,  then  I  would  watch  the  boats  that  were 
anchored  in  the  bay.  Every  minute,  they  would  look 
as  if  they  would  capsize,  and  my  heart  would  be  in  my 
mouth.  I  would  think  of  the  stories  I  had  read  of  dere- 
lict vessels  found  with  dead  men  floating  about  inside. 

How  beautiful  it  was  when  the  moon  sailed  from 
behind  the  hills,  and  threw  a  silver  bridge  across  the 
water.  Sometimes  a  big  Liner  would  pass  across  the 
bridge,  with  all  its  lights  reflected  in  the  sea,  making  it 
look  like  a  fairy  scene.  To  me,  the  Liners  were  full  of 
happy  people  going  to  enchanted  lands  where  every- 
thing was  beautiful,  and  life  a  golden  dream. 


MY  HOME  13 

I  used  to  think  a  lot  about  my  mother.  When  they 
talked  of  Nora,  I  always  listened  intently,  but  didn't  ask 
any  questions.  Old  acquaintances  of  my  grandmother's 
would  look  at  me  and  say: 

"My!  but  that  wean's  like  the  mother." 

My  grandmother  would  shake  her  head  and  answer. 

"Faith,  she  is.    Her  very  spit." 

Then  would  follow  a  whispered  conversation,  with 
many  covert  glances  over  to  where  I  was  sitting,  ap- 
parently engrossed  in  a  book,  but  in  reality  straining 
every  nerve  to  catch  a  word. 

I  had  built  for  myself  a  wonderful  romance.  My 
mother  must  be  a  beautiful  woman.  In  London,  she 
would  have  a  big  house,  with  carriages  and  a  lot  of 
servants.  No  doubt  we  were  too  poor  for  her  now. 
She  must  be  terribly  ashamed  of  us. 

Perhaps,  some  day  she  would  come  back  for  me.  In 
imagination  I  saw  her  lovely  carriage  stopping  in  front 
of  our  house.  All  my  companions  would  run  to  see 
what  it  was.  The  Jacksons,  who  stayed  above  us,  and 
were  madly  jealous  if  we  only  got  a  new  door  mat, 
would  be  hanging  half  out  of  the  window.  My  mother 
would  stare  at  them  haughtily.  I  would  rush  out,  and 
she  would  clasp  me  in  her  arms.  I  had  gone  over  this 
so  often  in  my  mind,  that  I  began  to  think  it  would 
really  happen. 

I  had  few  companions  at  school.  The  other  girls 
seemed  to  think  me  beneath  them.  They  used  often  to 
call  me  names  and  slap  me.  I  have  heard  people  say 
that  the  school  days  are  the  happiest  in  one's  life.  I 
haven't  found  it  so.  I  never  look  back  on  my  school  days 
with  pleasure.  Two  girls  in  particular  used  to  bully  me. 


14  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  was  always  in  terror  of  them.  They  are  married  now, 
but  I  often  meet  them  in  the  street.  I  have  the  feeling, 
from  the  look  in  their  eyes,  that  they  would  still  like 
to  punch  me.  I  am  inclined  to  put  up  my  hands  to 
ward  off  a  blow. 

The  girls  I  knew  used  to  go  to  picnics  to  the  woods, 
but  I  was  never  allowed.  Even  in  those  days  I  felt  that 
I  was  considered  different  from  other  children.  My 
grandparents  seemed  to  be  on  the  watch  for  some  evil 
growth  in  me.  I  would  have  been  very  unhappy,  but 
that  I  lived  in  a  world  of  my  own.  I  was  very  fond  of 
reading.  I  used  to  get  into  a  corner  of  the  window, 
hang  up  a  shawl  on  the  backs  of  chairs,  and  make  a 
little  alcove.  When  my  eyes  got  tired  of  reading,  I 
would  stop  for  a  little,  and  watch  the  sea. 

In  the  changing  clouds,  I  used  to  see  wonderful 
things.  Palaces,  flying  angels,  sometimes  a  company  of 
soldiers  on  horseback.  I  never  tired  of  watching  them. 


CHAPTER  II 


And  now  they  throng  the  moonlight  glade, 

Above — below — on  every  side, 
Their  little  minion  forms  array'd 

In  the  tricksy  pomp  of  fairy  pride! 

J.  R.  DRAKE. 

MY  grandparents  belonged  to  the  North  of  Ireland. 
They  had  come  over  to  Scotland  when  they  were  about 
twenty.  My  grandfather  was  an  honest,  God  fearing 
man.  We  held  him  in  awe,  and  would  never  have 
dreamt  of  taking  any  liberties  with  him.  We  were  kept 
down  very  much.  My  brother  did  as  he  pleased,  but 
my  sisters  and  I  got  very  little  freedom.  Meg,  the 
younger,  used  to  grumble,  but  Ann  didn't  mind  so  much. 

When  my  grandmother  was  younger,  she  used  to  go 
out  and  work  in  the  gardens  with  my  grandfather.  My 
mother  would  be  left  to  watch  the  younger  children. 
Very  little  watching  they  got.  She  would  go  off  on  the 
hunt  for  some  of  her  companions,  and  bring  them  in. 
They  would  tack  a  shawl  down  on  the  floor  to  deaden 
the  noise,  and  dance  until  they  were  tired.  Then  she 
would  go  to  the  shop  where  they  got  their  groceries, 
get  a  lot  of  fancy  biscuits  and  other  things,  take  them 
home,  and  they  would  all  have  a  fine  spread. 

Neither  of  my  grandparents  could  read,   so  they 

15 


16  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

couldn't  tell  what  items  there  were  in  the  'Tammy 
book.'  In  those  days,  there  was  a  lot  of  money  coming 
into  the  house.  There  was  a  brother  older  than  my 
mother  working  too.  My  grandfather  was  only  a  la- 
bourer, but  he  often  worked  overtime.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  drinking  on  a  Saturday  night.  I  have 
often  heard  Ann  tell  Meg  all  about  it. 

From  what  I  gathered,  my  mother  seemed  to  have 
run  wild. 

"I've  an  awful  sore  head,"  she  would  say.  "I  think 
I'll  take  a  run  out." 

"Wull  ye?"  my  grandfather  would  answer.  "No, 
damn  the  fit." 

She  would  hide  the  meal,  or  the  tea,  or  something, 
then  say  innocently,  as  if  she  had  just  discovered  it: 

"Oh,  I  forgot  we  were  needin'  tea.  I  finished  it  at 
tea  time." 

My  grandfather  would  glare  at  her  suspiciously. 

"If  ye're  no  back  in  twinty  minutes,  Heaven  help 
ye,"  he  would  say  angrily. 

Half  an  hour  would  pass,  an  hour,  and  still  no  sign 
of  her.  Then  my  grandfather  would  get  wild.  He 
would  take  a  stick,  and  go  out  to  look  for  her.  Some 
of  her  companions  would  see  him  coming,  and  warn  her. 
She  would  hide  up  a  tree,  and  watch  him.  He  would 
search  everywhere,  but  wouldn't  find  her.  It  would  be 
hours  before  she  returned  home.  Then  she  would  be 
left  black  and  blue.  It  didn't  seem  to  affect  her  in  the 
least.  She  used  to  say  she  would  get  the  beating  any- 
way, so  she  might  as  well  have  full  value. 

One  night  she  was  caught.  She  had  complained  of 
toothache,  and  pretended  she  was  going  to  the  dentist's 


THE  WEE  FOLK  17 

to  get  a  tooth  out.  My  grandfather  was  suspicious  of 
her,  and  followed.  When  she  had  gone  a  short  distance, 
she  was  joined  by  a  young  man.  She  took  his  arm,  and 
they  walked  on.  My  grandfather  slipped  up  behind 
them,  and  laid  his  stick  across  the  young  man's  shoul- 
ders, who  took  to  his  heels  and  ran.  Then  he  whipped 
my  mother  the  whole  way  home. 

One  day,  my  mother  and  a  few  others  were  having 
a  run  down  a  hill.  She  had  her  sister  Ann  on  her 
back.  Somehow,  she  slipped  and  fell.  Her  foot  came 
down  heavily  on  Ann's  arm.  She  was  afraid  to  tell 
them  at  home  about  it.  The  arm  got  very  painful. 
Gradually  it  got  worse.  Then  the  story  came  out  about 
how  it  happened. 

My  grandparents  were  in  a  state.  They  took  her  to 
a  doctor,  and  he  told  them  to  poultice  it.  They  worked 
at  it  for  months,  but  it  got  no  better.  Then  they  took 
her  to  a  skin  specialist  in  Glasgow,  that  they  had  heard 
great  things  of.  He  said  the  arm  must  come  off  at  once. 
My  grandfather  told  him  angrily  that  no  doctor  would 
cut  the  arm  off  his  wean,  and  brought  her  back  home 
again.  They  started  the  poulticing  again,  but  it  was 
no  good.  Her  whole  arm  began  to  get  bad. 

One  would  have  thought  that  that  would  have  so- 
bered my  mother  a  bit,  but  no. 

My  grandfather,  who  was  very  generous  when  he 
had  money,  one  Saturday  night  bought  her  a  hat  at 
thirty  shillings.  That,  to  us,  was  a  fabulous  sum  to 
give  for  a  hat,  six  or  seven  shillings  being  our  limit. 
On  the  Monday  she  was  at  her  usual  game  of  staying 
out.  When  she  came  in,  my  grandfather  tore  the  hat 
off  her  head,  and  stuck  it  into  the  heart  of  the  fire. 


18  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Yet  she  was  very  good  hearted  too.  When  she  went 
to  work,  every  time  she  came  home,  she  would  have 
something  for  each  of  them.  She  was  always  light 
hearted,  and  full  of  fun.  The  day  she  eloped,  they  had 
never  suspected  anything.  She  had  said  she  was  going 
to  the  dentist's  to  have  a  tooth  out  that  was  troubling 
her.  The  hours  passed  until  it  came  to  bedtime,  and 
she  hadn't  returned.  Getting  suspicious  that  something 
was  wrong,  they  went  into  the  room  to  look  at  her  box. 
It  was  locked,  but  they  broke  it  open,  to  discover  that 
it  was  empty. 

Afterwards  they  found  out  that  she  had  smuggled 
in  two  bags,  belonging  to  the  man  she  ran  away  with, 
filled  them  with  her  things,  and  slipped  them  out  of  the 
room  window  to  him  when  it  was  dark.  That  was  the 
last  that  was  seen  of  her. 

My  grandmother  had  a  weakness  for  gin,  and  slipped 
it  in  when  she  got  the  chance.  As  a  rule  she  was  kindly 
and  good  hearted,  but  drink  seemed  to  rouse  the  devil  in 
her.  The  least  drop  went  to  her  head.  I  kept  out  of 
her  way  when  she  had  any.  She  used  to  swear  a  great 
deal.  When  my  grandfather  came  in  for  his  meals, 
she  would  say  insulting  things  to  him.  He  was  always 
very  patient  with  her. 

"Woman,  woman,"  he  would  say  reprovingly,  "dinna 
take  the  Almighty's  name  in  your  mooth." 

She  would  get  worse.  He  would  scarcely  eat  a  bite, 
but  with  a  sigh  rise  and  go  back  to  his  work. 

My  grandfather  was  not  a  regular  drinker.  It  al- 
ways upset  him.  He  didn't  seem  to  be  able  to  touch  it 
without  getting  full  up.  The  next  day  he  would  be  so 
ill  he  would  have  to  lie  in  bed.  Afterwards,  he  would 


THE  WEE  FOLK  19 

go  down  on  his  knees  when  he  thought  there  was  no  one 
listening,  and  ask  God  to  forgive  him,  and  promise  not 
to  touch  it  again  for  perhaps  six  months.  He  never 
took  the  pledge,  but  that  promise  was  always  sacred  to 
him.  Exactly  on  the  day  his  time  was  up,  he  would  get 
full. 

He  was  an  Orangeman,  and  generally  walked  in  the 
procession  on  the  twelfth  of  July.  He  was  sure  to  be 
drunk  then. 

Jack  never  liked  to  see  him  going  to  these  dem- 
onstrations. He  said  they  were  a  bad,  drunken 
lot. 

One  twelfth  there  was  an  awful  row  at  the  station, 
coming  home.  My  grandmother  was  with  him  that 
time.  She  lost  him,  just  before  the  train  started,  but 
got  into  a  compartment  beside  some  women  she  knew, 
thinking  he  would  be  sure  to  be  in  the  train.  Meg  and 
I  were  down  at  the  station  waiting  for  them.  My 
grandmother  told  us  how  she  had  lost  my  grandfather, 
and  we  looked  about  anxiously  for  him.  He  was  not 
to  be  seen.  Everyone  was  there  but  him.  The  men  we 
asked  said  they  had  thought  he  was  in  the  train,  all 
right.  As  there  were  a  few  black  eyes  and  skinned 
noses,  as  evidence  of  the  scuffle,  my  grandmother 
thought  that  maybe  they  had  half  killed  him,  and  left 
him  lying  somewhere. 

Hours  afterwards  he  appeared,  covered  with  grime 
from  head  to  foot.  He  was  very  particular  when  he 
was  going  anywhere  to  have  everything  nice.  He  had 
left  in  the  morning  wearing  his  best  black  suit,  and  a 
white  shirt,  fresh  from  the  laundry.  When  he  came 
home,  the  shirt  was  the  same  colour  as  the  suit.  He 


20  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

had  got  out  at  the  wrong  station,  and  walked  home  the 
rest  of  the  way  through  the  long  tunnel.  How  a  drunk 
man  could  do  such  a  thing,  and  live  to  tell  it,  was  a 
marvel.  While  he  was  in  the  tunnel,  several  trains 
must  have  passed  through  it. 

My  grandmother  was  very  fond  of  making  patch- 
work quilts.  Almost  every  afternoon,  she  sat  and  sewed 
them.  She  had  a  box,  packed  full,  and  took  a  great 
pride  in  them. 

She  must  have  been  a  fine  looking  woman  when  she 
was  young.  She  used  to  tell  us  proudly  that  the  min- 
ister who  married  her  had  said  that  she  was  the  finest 
looking  girl  he  had  ever  married,  and  he  wasn't  a  young 
man  either. 

She  always  wore  a  drugget  apron,  a  woollen  neck 
shawl,  and  a  black  woollen  'Mutch'  with  the  ends  tied 
under  her  chin.  If  she  were  going  anywhere,  she  wore 
a  bonnet,  and  beaded  dolman. 

She  was  very  straight,  had  fine  features,  and  the  neat- 
est foot  I  have  ever  seen.  It  was  small,  with  a  high, 
arched  instep.  None  of  her  family  could  equal  her  in 
looks.  Meg  was  most  like  her. 

She  often  sang  as  she  sewed.  Such  quaint  songs, 
that  had  been  composed  by  people  she  had  known  in 
her  young  days  in  Ireland.  They  seemed  to  be  made  on 
passing  events.  There  was  one  that  she  was  always 
singing,  about  a  lady  who  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  poor 
young  man. 

Oh  Donnachie,  but  I  love  you  well, 
I  love  you  better  than  tongue  can  tell. 
I  love  you  better  than  all  my  kin, 
When  you  call  at  midnight,  I'll  let  you  in. 


THE  WEE  FOLK  21 

They've  got  a  new  song  for  to  divart, 
To  drive  all  sorrow  from  my  heart. 
It's  an  oul'  sayin',  ay  but  it's  true: 
I'll  no  change  the  oul'  ever  for  the  new. 

She  would  often  tell  us  of  her  young  days. 

"Faith!"  she  would  say,  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
*'ye'll  niver  be  a  woman  like  yer  mother.  I  was  workin' 
for  the  strangers  when  I  was  ten.  We  had  to  be  hardy 
in  them  days.  I  earned  the  first  boots  I  iver  wore,  an' 
they  were  kep'  for  the  church,  or  goin'  to  the  fair.  We 
walkit  barefit  till  we  were  near  the  toon,  then  we  put  on 
our  shoes  an'  stockin's.  Faith!  I  was  the  boy  to  get 
the  lads.  The  fella's  wid  be  killin'  one  anither  to  see 
who  wid  get  treatin'  me  to  peppermint  punch,  an'  rib- 
bons for  me  hair.  No  faith !  nane  o'  ye's  will  iver  be 
as  good-lookin'  as  yer  mother." 

She  had  a  great  belief  in  fairies.  One  afternoon  we 
were  all  sitting  round  the  fire,  helping  her  to  sort  out 
the  patches  for  the  quilts,  she  began  to  talk  about  them. 

"Did  you  ever  see  one  yourself?"  asked  Meg. 

"No,"  she  answered,  "I  niver  did.  My  brother 
James  saw  them  though." 

"Tell  us  about  it,"  I  said  eagerly. 

"Yin  night,"  she  began,  "a  fine,  moonlight  night  it 
wis,  I  min'  it  fine,  as  clear  as  day,  my  brother  James 
was  comin'  home  from  the  market — " 

"Had  he  any  drink?"  interrupted  Meg. 

"No,  divil  a  drap  had  crossed  his  mooth,"  answered 
my  grandmother  impatiently. 

She  stuck  her  needle  carefully  into  her  sewing,  folded 
her  hands  on  her  lap,  stared  thoughtfully  into  the  fire 
a  few  minutes,  then  continued. 


22  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Well,  there  wisn't  a  sowl  on  the  road  but  himsel'. 
Suddenly  he  heard  the  soun'  o'  music.  He  looked  up 
kin'  o'  startlet  to  see  whit  it  wis.  The  road  was  full  o' 
fairies,  dancin'  away  like  mad.  Wee  craters  they  were, 
but  faith,  they  had  seen  him,  an'  before  ye  could  'ave 
clappit  yer  han's  they  had  disappeared  like  magic.  He 
stood  trimblin*.  Fine  he  knew,  that  if  ye  interfered 
with  them,  ye  wid  niver  have  luck.  Anyway,  he  thought 
he  wid  go  on.  He  come  to  a  cove  that  went  under  the 
grun'.  There  was  their  wee  spinnin'  wheels,  an'  a' 
their  bits  o'  chairs  an'  things.  He  touched  some  o' 
them,  but  they  went  to  dust  under  his  fingers.  When 
he  came  hame,  he  was  white  as  a  sheet.  Efter  that, 
when  he  went  to  the  market,  he  come  hame  before  it 
was  dark.  But  he  was  always  queer  efter  it." 

"But  what  made  him  queer?"  asked  Ann,  who  had 
drawn  her  stool  over  beside  my  grandmother,  and  was 
arranging  the  loose  patches  in  a  neat  little  pile.  "Was 
it  the  fright  he  got?" 

"No  faith,  it  was  the  fairies  that  did  it  to  him  for  in- 
terferin'  with  their  hoose.  Deed  it's  a  bad  thing  to  in- 
terfere with  them  at  all,"  returned  my  grandmother 
solemnly. 

"Mercy!  we've  sat  till  the  fire's  nearly  out,"  ex- 
claimed Meg.  She  drew  the  red  embers  together,  got 
a  shovelful  of  coals  from  the  bunker  under  the  kitchen 
dresser,  and,  having  made  up  a  good  fire,  drew  her 
chair  close  against  the  fender,  and  sat  down  again. 

"Did  you  know  of  anybody  else  that  had  seen  the 
fairies?"  asked  Ann  eagerly. 

"Deed  ay!"  answered  my  grandmother,  a  far  away 
look  in  her  eyes. 


THE  WEE  FOLK  23 

"There  was  John  Henry  Connel,  a  fine,  big  strappin' 
lad.  Man  nor  divil  couldna  frighten  him.  He  telt 
James  he  wished  he  could  come  across  them.  He  would 
soon  make  a  scatterment  among  them.  Faith  I  one  day 
he  was  at  the  market.  He  had  stayed  late,  an'  was  well 
canned  up  before  he  left  the  toon.  He  was  seen  to 
take  the  same  road  that  James  had  ta'en,  the  night  he 
saw  the  fairies." 

"And  what  happened?"  I  asked  breathlessly,  as  she 
paused. 

"He  was  niver  seen  or  heard  tell  o'  again,"  she  an- 
swered in  an  awed  whisper. 

A  loud  bang  made  us  all  jump.  Meg  got  up,  and 
very  nervously  went  into  the  lobby  to  see  what  it  was. 

"It's  only  the  room  door  that  has  shut  with  the 
draught,"  she  said  in  a  relieved  tone,  as  she  returned  to 
her  seat. 

"An'  then  there  was  the  M'Quatties,"  resumed  my 
grandmother.  "Their  ferm  was  near  oor  hoose.  They 
used  to  empty  a'  their  dirty  water  doon  the  siver  at  their 
back  door.  One  day  Jean  M'Quattie  was  parin'  tatties 
at  the  sink  in  the  kitchen.  The  back  door  was  open. 
She  happened  to  look  up,  an'  there  was  one  o'  the  wee 
folk  stanin'  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Jean  got  a 
great  start.  She  was  dressed  a'  in  green,  an'  was  aboot 
the  half  length  o'  me  arm. 

"  'Ye'll  have  to  change  your  siver  to  the  ither  side,' 
she  says  to  Jean.  'A'  your  dirty  water  comes  doon  oor 
lum,'  an'  oot  she  went. 

"Though  Jean  was  frighten't  at  the  time,  she  niver 
bothert  herseP.  No  long  after  a  coo  fell  sick  an'  died. 
Still  Jean  kep'  throwin'  the  dirty  water  doon  the  siver, 


24  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

never  connectin'  the  fairies  with  the  dead  coo.  Jean  was 
workin'  in  the  kitchen  a  while  after,  when  faith !  back 
come  the  wee  crater  in  green. 

"  'If  you  don't  shift  your  siver,'  she  says,  angry  like, 
'we'll  no  leave  a  livin'  coo  in  your  byre,'  an'  turn't  an' 
went  oot  the  door. 

"Jean  looked  after  her,  fair  dazed.  Still  they  niver 
bothered.  Another  coo  took  bad  an'  died.  The  third 
one  took  bad,  then  they  got  feared.  That  very  day 
they  sent  for  a  man  an'  he  shifted  the  siver  to  the  other 
side  o'  the  hoose.  Next  mornin'  the  coo  that  had  been 
badly  was  fine.  They  niver  saw  the  wee  body  in  green 
again.  Faith!  no,  they're  no'  canny." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT 

The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallowed, 
Loud,  deep  and  long,  the  thunder  bellow'd, 
That  night,  a  child  might  understand, 
The  dell  had  business  on  his  hand. 

BURNS. 

AT  this  time  we  had  two  lodgers.  They  were  Irish 
labourers.  One  was  a  middle  aged  man  called  Lyons. 
The  other  was  about  twenty,  and,  as  Lyons,  said,  a  bit 
of  a  softie.  His  name  was  Johnny  Boyle. 

It  was  the  cold,  winter  days,  and  after  they  had  fin- 
ished their  tea,  they  used  to  come  into  the  kitchen  to 
chat  with  my  grandfather  and  Barney.  We  always  had 
a  great  fire  of  gas  cinders.  Meg  and  grandmother 
would  knit.  Ann  would  be  crocheting,  she  could  not 
knit  with  her  arm.  Sometimes  my  brother  Jack  would 
stay  in.  He  was  a  settmaker,  and  had  to  sit  outside  all 
day,  so  on  cold,  wet  nights,  he  was  glad  to  toast  him- 
self at  the  kitchen  fire.  Lyons  used  to  keep  us  all 
laughing  at  his  stories  about  the  people  in  Ireland. 

One  night  Johnny  Boyle  brought  in  a  pack  of  cards. 
Jack  and  Lyons  said  they  would  have  a  game  with  him. 
They  started  to  play.  Barney  and  my  grandfather 
looked  on.  Then  my  grandfather  began  to  tell  about 
something  that  had  happened  in  Ireland. 

"One  night,"  he  began,  "jist  a  night  like  this,  a  fair 

25 


26  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

whustler,  Jock  Kelly  and  Paddy  Stewart  were  sittin' 
havin'  a  game  o'  kerds.  Paddy's  wife  was  away  keep- 
in'  a  daughter  that  was  badly,  an'  Jock  had  come  in  to 
keep  him  company.  Well,  whatever,  they  were  plain' 
away  when  they  hears  a  knock  at  the  door.  Paddy 
open't  it,  wonderin'  who  it  could  be.  It  was  a  man 
Paddy  had  niver  clapped  eyes  on  afore. 

"  'I've  lost  my  road,'  he  says,  'an'  if  ye  would  let  me 
shelter  here  I  would  be  thankful.' ' 

The  others  had  stopped  their  game  to  hear  the  story. 
Lyons  sat  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  as  he  always  did 
when  he  was  interested,  but  Johnny  Boyle  was  kind  of 
frightened  looking. 

"Well,"  continued  my  grandfather,  "Paddy  didn't 
know  what  to  do.  He  didna'  like  the  man's  looks,  but  it 
wasn't  a  night  anybody  could  turn  man  or  beast  from 
the  door. 

"  'Come  in,'  he  says,  'ye're  welcome  to  shelter  here  to 
the  morn.* 

"Heth !  in  he  comes.  There  was  a  blast  o'  win'  come 
in  along  with  him  that  nearly  took  the  roof  of  the 
hoose.  He  looked  roun'  them  a'  with  eyes  that  were 
like  two  livin*  coals. 

"  'Oh,  you're  havin*  a  game,'  says  he,  'have  you  any 
objection  to  me  takin'  a  han'?' 

"  'None  whatever,'  says  Paddy,  an'  the  three  o'  them 
sat  down  to  the  table." 

My  grandmother  rose,  and,  drawing  the  fire  together, 
put  on  some  more  cinders.  Johnny  Boyle  edged  his 
chair  closer  to  the  fire,  and  I  managed  to  get  my  grand- 
father between  me  and  the  door. 

"Well,"  resumed  my  grandfather,  "they  played  away 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT  27 

for  a  long  time,  an'  nobody  spoke.  They  were  shufflin' 
the  kerds  for  anither  game,  when  Jock  happen't  to  drap 
one  on  the  floor.  He  bent  down  to  lift  it,  when  heth ! 
he  saw  the  cloven  fit  under  the  table." 

We  listened  breathlessly.  My  grandmother  stopped 
her  knitting. 

"He  was  in  a  terrible  state,"  continued  my  grand- 
father, "but  he  knew  there  was  only  one  thing  he  could 
do.  If  ye  mention  the  name  o'  the  Almighty,  the  divil 
can't  stan'  it.  He  has  to  fly.  So  Jock  lifts  the  kerd, 
gets  to  his  feet,  an'  says  to  the  man,  'In  the  name  o'  the 
Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost,  who  are  you?' 

"Begod!  he  couldn't  stan'  that.  He  went  through 
the  roof  like  a  flash  o'  lightnin'.  They  could  hear  the 
whustle  o'  him  above  the  storm.  At  the  same  minute,  a 
blast  o'  win'  shook  the  hoose  'til  the  very  walls  trembl't. 
After  that  night,  no  for  love  or  money  would  Jock  or 
Paddy  touch  a  kerd."  My  grandfather  shook  his  head 
solemnly.  "Heth  no,  they're  a  bad  thing,  the  kerds.  I 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  There's  some- 
thing o'  the  divil  in  them." 

Lyons  laughed,  and  began  to  tell  some  other  story. 
Johnny  Boyle  shuffled  uneasily  on  his  chair,  and  listened 
intently  to  the  whistling  of  the  wind,  as  it  rattled  the 
window,  and  sent  the  piece  of  carpet  that  was  lying 
within  the  kitchen  door,  flapping  up  and  down. 

After  a  while  we  all  went  to  bed.  I  was  glad  I  hadn't 
to  go  along  the  lobby  in  the  dark.  We  were  sleeping 
in  the  wee  room.  Meg,  Ann,  and  I  sat  for  a  little  after 
Barney  and  Jack  had  gone  to  bed,  then  we  went,  too. 
We  never  troubled  with  a  light.  The  gleam  from  the 
little  window  was  all  we  needed.  Sometimes,  if  I  were 


28  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

in  first,  Meg  stepped  on  my  face  when  undressing,  but 
that  was  a  small  matter. 

We  must  have  been  sleeping  for  some  time,  when  I 
felt  Meg  shaking  me  gently. 

"Come  and  see  this,"  she  said  in  a  low  whisper,  pull- 
ing me  towards  the  door. 

Half  asleep,  I  looked  into  the  kitchen.  I  was  amazed 
to  see  Johnny  Boyle  standing  at  the  fire.  He  had  his 
long  night  shirt  on,  and  his  feet  were  bare.  I  couldn't 
think  what  he  was  doing.  He  was  staring  into  the  fire. 
Then  he  lifted  the  poker,  and  began  softly  to  turn  over 
something  that  was  on  the  coals.  There  was  a  bright 
glow. 

"He's  burning  the  cards,"  whispered  Meg  in  my  ear. 

We  quietly  awoke  Ann  and  Jack.  We  didn't  want 
them  to  miss  the  fun.  Jack  nearly  strangled  himself 
with  the  blanket,  in  his  efforts  to  keep  from  bursting 
into  a  laugh. 

Next  morning  we  told  the  others.  How  Lyons  and 
Barney  laughed. 

"He  must  be  a  soft  sowl,"  said  my  grandfather. 

Next  night,  Jack  said  innocently: 

"Bring  out  the  cards,  Johnny,  and  we'll  have  a 
game."  He  winked  at  us,  and  I  could  hardly  keep  from 
laughing. 

Johnny  went  into  the  room,  pretending  to  look  for 
them.  He  came  back  in  a  little.  His  face  was  a  bit 
red. 

"Somebody  must  have  stolen  them  out  of  my  pocket," 
he  said,  looking  confused. 

Jack  felt  sorry  for  him,  so  he  just  said. 

"Oh,  never  mind,  Johnny." 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT  29 

The  subject  was  dropped.  We  never  referred  to  the 
cards  again. 

My  grandfather  was  paid  fortnightly.  Some  of  the 
men  got  what  was  called  'sub'  every  Saturday.  That 
was  a  few  shillings  of  their  lying  wages.  My  grand- 
father never  got  that.  He  always  prided  himself  on 
being  able  to  do  without  'sub'  on  the  'blin'  Saturday. 

On  the  pay  day,  he  and  my  grandmother  used  to  go 

to  a  neighboring  town  called  J ,  to  buy  provisions. 

One  of  us  girls  used  to  go  with  them.  They  generally 
bought  a  large  piece  of  beef  for  broth  on  Sunday. 
There  would  be  a  bit  over  for  Monday,  then  the  rest 
of  the  week  we  would  have  salt  fish,  or  salt  herring, 
for  our  dinner.  We  had  always  a  long  string  of  salt 
herring  hanging  up  in  the  kitchen. 

Every  second  pay,  my  grandfather  bought  a  whole 
ham. 

The  first  week  we  would  get  a  good  plateful  of  it 
for  our  breakfast.  Gradually  we  got  less.  When  it 
came  near  the  end  of  the  second  pay,  we  generally  got 
none  at  all.  My  grandmother  always  baked  Italian 
meal  scones.  We  had  porridge  made  of  it  too,  which 
we  supped  with  sour  milk.  I  liked  them  very  well. 

I  liked  going  to  the  town  with  them.  If  my  grand- 
father had  any  money  to  spare,  he  would  buy  something 
to  whoever  was  with  him.  I  used  to  go  oftenest. 

We  often  met  acquaintances  of  my  grandfather's. 
Then  we  would  all  go  into  a  public-house  and  get  a 
dram.  My  grandfather  would  take  a  teetotal  drink, 
my  grandmother  gin,  and  I  would  get  lemonade  or 
wine. 

One  shop  especially,  I  liked  to  go  to.     The  waiter 


30  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

knew  me,  and  always  brought  me  a  handful  of  little 
biscuits,  like  buttons.  It  was  a  shop  that  was  a  great 
deal  frequented  by  Orangemen.  There  were  often 
great  rows.  Every  time  I  went  in,  I  had  the  hope 
that  there  would  be  a  row  before  I  came  out.  It  was 
exciting,  and  they  were  generally  separated  before  much 
harm  was  done. 

Often  my  grandmother  brought  home  some  gin  with 
her.  When  she  had  taken  some,  she  would  get  quarrel- 
some, and  it  often  ended  in  a  fight. 

There  was  a  married  brother  staying  a  street  or  two 
away  from  us. 

Some  of  his  family  were  at  school  with  me.  I  used 
to  get  sent  to  their  house,  until  the  row  would  blow 
over.  Often  it  was  the  middle  of  the  night  before 
anyone  came  for  me. 

Of  course,  to  give  her  her  due,  my  grandmother 
wasn't  always  like  that. 

My  sister-in-law  was  a  jolly  kind  of  woman.  One  day 
we  had  a  holiday  from  school ;  my  grandmother  planned 
that  her  family  and  ours  would  go  a  picnic  up  a  hill 
close  by. 

My  sister-in-law  was  to  make  a  dumpling,  and  bring 
the  tea  and  sugar  for  her  share.  My  grandmother  was 
to  get  boiled  ham,  and  make  sandwiches. 

As  it  happened,  it  was  a  very  wet  day.  My  sister- 
in-law  sent  word  just  to  come  to  her  house,  and  have 
a  little  jollification  there. 

We  went,  and  she  made  the  tea  for  us.  We  ate  up 
everything  we  had.  When  the  tea  was  over,  my  grand- 
mother, Meg,  Ann,  and  my  sister-in-law  sat  and  gos- 
siped. We  others  played  games  and  fought. 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT  31 

Then  my  grandmother  said  she  would  show  us  a 
game  we  could  play  together.  She  told  us  to  sit  on  the 
floor,  one  behind  the  other,  draw  up  our  knees  under 
our  chins,  and  clasp  our  hands  round  them. 

We  all  sat  down,  with  the  exception  of  my  sister- 
in-law.  The  baby  was  yelling  and  she  had  to  rock  the 
cradle  with  her  foot. 

"Now,"  said  my  grandmother,  "ye're  to  jump  forrit 
like  a  puddock,  an'  cry  'Shoo  me  lily  cock.  Shoo  me 
lily  cock,'  all  the  time.  The  one  that  stops  jumpin', 
is  out  o'  the  game." 

It  was  so  funny  to  see  my  grandmother  jumping 
round  the  kitchen,  with  her  bonnet  bobbing  up  and 
down,  that  my  sister-in-law  laughed  until  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks.  We  had  a  fine  time  in  spite  of  the 
rain. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  DEAF  MUTE 

Why  for  fortune  good  or  ill,  to  joy  or  grief  thy  soul  deliver? 
On  the  pages  of  existence,  see!  the  writing  changes  ever. 

HAFIZ,  FROM  THE  PERSIANS. 

ONE  day  I  was  playing  about  the  door,  when  a  queer 
looking  man  turned  into  the  passage.  He  looked  so 
wild,  and  had  such  fearsome  eyes,  that  I  ran  into  the 
house  in  terror. 

"Whit's  wrong  with  ye  now?"  said  my  grandmother, 
as  I  shut  the  door  quickly  with  a  bang. 

"I  think  it's  a  daft  man,"  I  whispered,  breathlessly. 

She  peeped  over  the  screen,  then  started  back. 

"It's  the  dummy  man,"  she  exclaimed  excitedly  to 
Meg  and  Ann.  They  both  jumped  up  eagerly.  There 
was  a  loud  knock  at  the  door. 

"Open  it,"  said  my  grandmother  to  me.  I  shrank 
back. 

"Ach,  ye' re  always  feart  for  things  ye  niver  saw,"  she 
said  impatiently,  and  went  to  the  door  herself. 

I  peeped  out.  The  man  was  selling  note  paper.  He 
held  it  out  to  my  grandmother.  She  knew  better,  and 
signed  to  him  to  come  in. 

He  looked  round  cautiously,  then  stepped  quickly  into 
the  lobby.  She  waved  him  into  the  kitchen.  He  came, 
making  queer,  unearthly  noises. 

32 


THE  DEAF  MUTE  33 

I  think  my  sisters  were  frightened  for  him  too,  but 
curiosity  got  the  better  of  their  fear.  My  grandmother 
signed  to  him  that  it  was  Meg's  fortune  she  wanted  told. 
Meg  ran  to  the  room  for  a  piece  of  paper  and  gave  it 
to  him.  He  put  it  into  his  pocket,  then  seized  hold  of 
her  hand.  All  the  time  he  was  looking  at  it,  he  kept 
making  a  noise  like  the  whining  of  a  dog.  My  grand- 
mother was  nodding  and  shaking  her  head  all  the  time, 
as  if  she  understood  all  he  meant. 

He  dropped  Meg's  hand  suddenly,  took  the  paper 
from  his  pocket,  wrote  something  on  it,  then  handed 
it  to  Meg. 

My  grandmother  then  pushed  me  forward.  He  stared 
at  me  intently  for  a  minute,  then  caught  hold  of  my 
hand  and  began  to  examine  it.  I  stood  in  fear  and 
trembling.  In  a  minute  he  let  go  my  hand.  Meg  gave 
him  another  piece  of  paper.  He  wrote  on  it,  then 
looked  meaningly  at  Ann. 

Ann  didn't  want  her's  done.  My  grandmother 
handed  him  fourpence.  He  slipped  it  into  his  pocket, 
looked  round  us  all  with  a  kind  of  half  smile,  gave  a 
grunt,  and,  turning  to  the  door,  disappeared  quickly. 

"Whit's  on  yer  paper?"  asked  my  grandmother,  turn- 
ing eagerly  to  Meg. 

"Married,  some  time  yet,  no  family,  a  widow  soon. 
That's  all,"  said  Meg,  in  a  disappointed  tone. 

My  grandmother  turned  to  me. 

"An'  whit's  on  yours?"  she  asked. 

I  handed  my  paper  to  Meg.  Ann  couldn't  read.  She 
had  never  been  able  to  go  to  school,  on  account  of  her 
arm. 

Meg  looked  at  my  paper. 


34  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Father,  mother,  and  son,"  she  read  out  in  a  puzzled 
voice.  "I  wonder  what  that  can  mean." 

"I  doubt  he's  got  mixed  up,"  remarked  Ann,  with 
a  laugh. 

"Mixed  up  or  no,"  said  my  grandmother.  "Whit  he 
says  always  comes  true  anyway.  Deed  ay!  that  man 
has  the  second  sight  if  iver  anybody  had.  He's  come 
about  us  for  I'm  sure  twenty  years,  an'  everything  he 
has  said  has  happen't.  It's  a  strange  thing,  but  he 
niver  would  read  Nora's  han'.  When  we  asked  him, 
he  jist  looked  at  her,  then  shook  his  head  an*  spat 
oot." 

"It  was  strange,"  said  Ann  sadly.  "He  must  have 
known  what  her  fate  was  to  be." 

"But,  if  he  knew  then,  that  she  was  to  go  to  the  bad, 
how  could  she  avoid  it?  That  looks  as  if  the  things 
that  happen  just  have  to  be,"  answered  Meg,  thought- 
fully. 

"God  knows,"  said  my  grandmother.  "These  are 
things  beyond  the  knowledge  o'  human  bein's  to  under- 
stand 

"It's  a  long  time  since  the  dummy  was  here  before," 
Meg  said,  as  she  put  on  the  kettle  for  the  tea. 

"It  is  that,"  answered  my  grandmother.  "I'm  sure 
it's  two  years.  I've  seen  it  longer  though.  One  time 
we  niver  saw  a  sight  o'  him  for  three  years.  It's  queer 
how  he  disappears  like  that." 

"Maybe  he  gets  his  information  from  old  Nick,  and 
has  to  go  and  work  for  him  sometimes  in  return," 
laughed  Meg,  as  she  clattered  the  tea  things  down  on 
the  table.  "What  do  you  all  say  to  a  bit  of  salt  herrin' 
to  the  tea  the  night?" 


THE  DEAF  MUTE  35 

"The  very  thing!"  agreed  Ann,  cheerfully.  "I'm 
sick  of  syrup  and  Indian  meal  scones." 

"Fry  an  onion  an'  a  wee  bit  ham  for  yer  fether  and 
Jack  then.  They  need  a  bit  kitchen  whiles,"  said  my 
grandmother,  going  into  the  press  for  the  onions. 

Soon  the  kitchen  was  full  of  the  odours  of  fried 
onions  and  herring. 

For  a  long  time  I  puzzled  over  the  words  the  dummy 
had  written,  then  I  forgot  all  about  them.  Years  after, 
the  meaning  of  them  was  made  quite  clear  to  me.  What 
he  had  predicted  for  Meg  came  true  also. 

Twice  only  have  I  seen  him  since  that  day.  The  last 
time  was  about  four  years  ago.  It  was  at  a  fair  in  the 

town  of  J .  I  was  standing  watching  some  girls 

dancing  outside  a  wild  beast  show.  Someone  brushed 
against  me.  I  looked  round  quickly.  In  a  minute  I 
knew  him.  The  little  leather  bag  hung  over  his 
shoulder.  The  hard  hat  was  pushed  half  over  his  face, 
above  his  wild,  staring  eyes.  He  looked  neither  to  the 
right,  nor  to  the  left,  but  hurried  on,  apparently  uncon- 
scious of  all  around  him;  seeing  things  afar  off,  that 
are  not  perceived  by  everyone. 

Perhaps,  who  knows?  the  power  may  be  given  to 
some  to  see  into  the  mysterious  future. 

I  lost  all  interest  in  the  dance.  The  silliness  and 
vulgarity  of  it  all  suddenly  jarred  on  me. 

I  turned  away  to  seek  a  quiet  place,  where  I  could 
be  alone  to  sit  and  think. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  TRIP 

//  youth  is  but  a  joyous  time, 

A  world  of  flowers,  a  summer  sky; 

What,  ere  man  is  in  his  prime, 
Is  its  remembrance,  but  a  sigh? 

F.  F.  DALLY. 

MY  grandfather  used  to  go  to  a  meeting  of  the 
Orangemen  once  a  month.  He  looked  forward  very 
much  to  that  night.  Barney  generally  gave  us  money 
to  buy  brown  sugar,  to  make  candy.  As  soon  as  my 
grandfather  had  gone,  I  would  throw  a  shawl  on  my 
head,  and  run  for  the  sugar.  Meg  would  get  the  pot 
ready.  While  the  candy  was  boiling,  we  would  have  a 
cup  of  tea.  Barney  kept  us  laughing  all  the  time. 
When  my  grandfather  was  in  we  daren't  laugh.  If  we 
did,  he  would  have  said : 

"Whit  the  divil's  wrong  with  ye.  If  yer  stomach 
wasna  full,  ye  wouldna  be  so  hearty." 

When  the  candy  was  ready,  we  divided  it  among  us. 
Barney  liked  it  sugary,  and  my  grandmother  liked  it 
'cheuch.'  Chance  always  decided  the  matter. 

This  night,  it  happened  that  we  were  late  of  getting 
the  pot  on.  We  were  afraid  my  grandfather  would 
come  in,  and  perhaps  smell  it.  It  happened  to  be  the 
'cheuch'  kind,  so  we  couldn't  take  it  off  the  plate  until 
it  had  firmed  a  little. 

36 


THE  TRIP  37 

"Open  the  window  an'  lay  it  oot  on  the  stane,"  sug- 
gested my  grandmother. 

Meg  opened  the  window,  and  set  the  plate  out  on  the 
sill.  It  was  a  large  soup  plate. 

"It'll  soon  cool  there,"  she  said.  "There's  a  good 
wind." 

She  had  just  turned  from  the  window,  when  there 
was  a  loud  smash  on  the  stone. 

"Damn  it!"  exclaimed  Barney,  "there's  the  candy 
gone." 

Sure  enough  it  was.  Meg  and  I  had  the  most  awful 
job  to  get  it  off  the  flags  in  the  passage.  We  were 
afraid  it  would  stick  to  my  grandfather's  feet  when 
he  came  in.  As  it  happened,  it  did,  but  the  Jacksons  up 
the  stair  got  the  credit  of  it. 

The  exclusiveness  of  our  passage,  compared  to  the 
publicity  of  their  stair,  to  which  four  tenants  had  an 
equal  right,  was  the  cause  of  much  bitterness. 

Often  in  the  mornings  we  would  find  a  lot  of  little 
trifles  such  as  potato  parings,  egg  shells,  fish  bones, 
and  the  like  strewed  along  our  flags. 

My  grandfather  wouldn't  allow  my  grandmother  to 
go  up  and  make  a  quarrel.  He  hated  squabbling  with 
the  neighbours.  My  grandmother  used  to  take  a  sly 
way  about  gaining  her  end  though.  She  would  stand 
outside  the  kitchen  window,  and  talk  loudly  in  to  Meg 
and  Ann  about  the  dirty  folk  up  the  stair,  mentioning 
no  names. 

Mrs.  Jackson  would  be  at  her  window  listening.  At 
last  she  would  put  her  head  out,  and  say  something 
insulting  to  my  grandmother.  That  was  my  grand- 
mother's chance.  Then  she  would  be  told  in  plain 


38  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

terms  what  she  was,  and  everybody  connected  with  her. 

As  my  grandmother  had  a  much  greater  variety  of 
insulting  words  at  her  command,  Mrs.  Jackson  would 
have  to  retire  discomfited,  and  shut  the  window. 

Meg  and  I  did  not  often  get  anywhere,  but,  as  a  rule, 
we  got  to  the  Sunday  school  trip.  This  year,  I  was 
very  much  disappointed  because  my  grandfather  didn't 
seem  to  want  us  to  go. 

The  day  came  round  when  we  had  to  go  for  our 
tickets.  I  wanted  Meg  to  ask  if  we  would  get,  but  she 
wouldn't.  She  wasn't  so  keen  on  it  as  I  was. 

"Ask  yourself,  if  you're  so  mad  to  get,"  she  said. 

"All  right!"  I  answered,  "but  I'll  just  ask  for  my- 
self when  you're  so  sticking." 

She  laughed.  "You'll  not  get  goin'  unless  I'm  with 
you,"  she  retorted. 

My  grandmother  was  scraping  potatoes  at  the  sink. 
With  a  beating  heart  I  walked  over  to  her. 

"I'll  help  you,"  I  said,  taking  up  a  knife. 

"Whit's  up?"  she  asked,  looking  at  me  suspiciously. 
"It's  no  often  ye're  so  willin'." 

It  was  a  bad  opening,  but  I  was  determined  to  make 
the  best  of  it.  I  knew  if  I  failed,  Meg  would  have  a 
laugh  at  me. 

"It's  a  rare  day,"  I  remarked,  trying  to  speak  cas- 
ually. 

"Ay!"  answered  my  grandmother,  "I  think  it's  a 
pet." 

She  started  to  sing,  and  my  hopes  began  to  rise.  She 
was  always  in  a  good  mood  when  she  sang,  and  easier  to 
manage.  I  waited.  She  stopped  to  lift  some  more 
potatoes  into  the  sink,  then  began  with : 


THE  TRIP  39 

"Three  drunk-en  fa-ir  maids,  came  from  the  Isle  o'  Wight. 
They  drank  from  Mon-day  morn-ing,  till  Sat-ur-day  night. 
When  Sat-ur-day  night  came  roun',  they  wou-ld  not  gang  out 
An'  the  three  drunk-en   fa-ir  maids,  they  pushed  the  joogs 
a-bout. 

"In  come  Sal-ly  Fland-ers,  as  blithe  as  an-ny  queen, 
She  says,  me  dears,  ass-ist  me,  can  ye  grant  me  an-ny  room  ? 
I'll  be  worthy  o'  me  room,  says  she,  be-fore  that  I  gang  out 
An'  the  three  drunk-en   fa-ir  maids,   they  pushed  the  joogs 
a-bout. 

"They  had  wood-cock  an'  part-ridge,  an'  her-rin'  so  fine. 
All  sorts  o'  bev-ridge,  no  scar-city  was  there. 
Four  an'  twin-ty  quarts  o'  cid-ar,  an'  they  free-ly  drank  it  out, 
An'  the  three  drunk-en  fa-ir  maids,  they  pushed  the  joogs 
a-bout." 

Her  song  was  finished,  and  so  were  the  potatoes.  If 
I  didn't  speak  quickly,  my  chance  would  be  gone. 

"It'll  be  a  pity  if  they  get  a  bad  day,"  I  said  hur- 
riedly. 

"Bad  day!  Who?"  asked  my  grandmother. 

Meg,  who  was  taking  a  drink,  began  to  splutter  and 
cough. 

"I  niver  seen  anybody  that  had  a  thrapple  like  ye," 
said  my  grandmother,  turning  to  slap  her  on  the  back. 
"Ye're  ay  chokin,'  if  ye  only  swallie  yer  spittle  the 
wrong  way." 

"Ay,  that  was  it,"  said  Meg,  winking  behind  my 
grandmother's  back. 

"Whit  was  ye  sayin'  about  somebody  gettin'  a  bad 
day?"  asked  my  grandmother,  turning  to  me. 

"The  Sunday  school  trip  I  was  meaning,"  I  answered, 
breathing  hard.  "This  is  the  day  they  get  their 
tickets." 


40  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Oh,  is  it,"  said  my  grandmother  absently. 

"It  would  be  fine  if  we  could  get,"  I  hinted. 

"Oh  well,"  she  said,  after  a  minute,  "I've  nothin'  to 
do  with  it.  Ask  yer  f ether." 

"Will  you  ask  him?"  I  said  eagerly,  knowing  that  if 
she  was  willing  the  battle  was  half  won. 

"We'll  see,"  she  answered  evasively. 

Shortly  after,  my  grandfather  came  in,  and  sat  down 
to  his  dinner. 

"There  ye  are,"  said  my  grandmother.  "Ask  him 
now." 

"Ask  whit?"  said  my  grandfather,  looking  at  me 
from  under  his  brows. 

"She  wants  to  go  to  the  trip,"  explained  my  grand- 
mother. 

"The  trip !"  repeated  my  grandfather.  "Oh  ay.  Well, 
well,  I  suppose  ye  may  let  her  go.  Meg  can  go  with 
her." 

"Will  I  go  for  the  tickets?"  I  cried  joyfully. 

"Ay,  away  ye  go,"  answered  my  grandfather,  good 
naturedly. 

"You  can  bring  mine,  that'll  save  me  goin',"  said 
Meg. 

"Away  with  her,  or  I'll  give  ye  a  skite  on  the  lug," 
exclaimed  my  grandfather  angrily. 

The  morning  of  the  trip  was  bright  and  fine.  Meg 
was  to  wear  her  brown  dress.  It  was  one  that  she  had 
got  from  a  wealthy  family  belonging  to  the  church.  I 
had  a  white  dress  that  my  grandmother  had  made.  The 
skirt  was  cut  from  a  piece  of  flowering  that  she  had 
worked  in  her  young  days.  The  bodice  and  sleeves  were 
cotton,  just  cut  straight,  without  being  shaped  at  all. 


THE  TRIP  41 

The  dress  was  starched  so  stiff,  that  it  would  have 
stood  alone.  My  hair  had  been  washed  the  night  before 
and  put  into  six  pleats.  It  was  not  very  long,  and  when 
the  pleats  were  taken  out,  and  it  was  combed,  it  stood 
out  from  my  head  like  a  mop.  I  had  a  bow  of  blue 
ribbon  on  top.  My  grandmother  handed  me  a  pair  of 
white  cotton  stockings.  I  put  them  on.  I  had  only  one 
pair  of  boots.  They  were  heavy,  and  short  in  the  leg 
like  a  boy's.  When  I  put  them  on  with  the  white  stock- 
ings, they  looked  awful.  I  wore  a  royal  blue  sash  and 
a  sailor  hat,  with  a  band  of  the  same  colour. 

My  grandmother  made  me  turn  round,  to  let  her  see 
how  I  looked.  She  seemed  quite  proud  of  me.  I  had 
the  uncomfortable  feeling  that  I  was  terribly  Irish  look- 
ing, a  thing  Meg  and  I  hated  to  be. 

She  came  to  the  door  to  see  us  off. 

"Now  min',"  she  admonished  me,  "if  there's  a  spot 
on  ye  when  ye  come  home,  divil  pity  ye.  An'  if  any  o' 
the  gentry  speaks  to  ye,  don't  stan'  with  yer  finger  in  yer 
mouth  like  a  tappie.  I'm  warnin'  ye  now.  Meg'll  tell 
me  when  ye  come  back." 

"All  right!"  said  Meg.  "So  long  then.  We'll  need 
to  hurry." 

We  walked  away  quickly.  At  the  turn,  we  looked 
back.  My  grandmother  was  still  standing  on  the  pave- 
ment looking  after  us.  She  smiled,  and  waved  her 
hand.  We  waved  back.  She  had  a  biting  tongue,  but 
underneath  it  all  a  kind,  loving  heart. 

"If  you  clype  on  me,  you'll  be  a  mean  beast,"  I  said 
to  Meg. 

"Oh,  shut  your  mouth  and  come  on,"  she  retorted. 
"We're  late  as  it  is." 


42  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

The  steamer  bell  was  ringing,  when  we  reached  the 
pier.  We  hurried  up  the  gangway.  I  shrank  behind 
Meg,  as  I  hated  any  of  the  gentry  to  speak  to  me. 

"There  you  go,"  said  Meg,  impatiently.  "You  would 
think  somebody  was  goin'  to  eat  you." 

"Hey,  Meg,  Meg!"  a  voice  hailed  us.  "Come  over 
here." 

It  was  Mrs.  Davidson,  a  woman  we  knew.  She  had 
her  two  children  with  her.  One  was  a  boy  about  seven, 
the  other  a  girl  like  me. 

"Sit  down  here  beside  me,"  she  said,  making  room 
for  us  on  the  seat.  "Sit  ower  a  bit,  Jock.  Whit!  you 
want  a  piece  already.  No  a  chow  will  you  get.  Stop 
your  girnin',  or  I'll  take  my  han'  aff  your  jaw  a  rattle. 
It's  a  wonder  the  old  boy  let  you  come,  Meg.  You're 
a  queer  swell  the  day,  Jean,  with  your  white  frock, 
and  blue  ribbons.  We're  away.  Hurrah !  she's  heavin'. 
Wave  your  henkerche',  Jock.  No,  gutsey,  you'd  rether 
have  somethin'  to  eat.  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  give 
you  it  and  have  done.  I'll  get  no  peace." 

She  opened  her  bag,  and  gave  him  a  thick  slice  of 
bread,  with  boiled  ham  between.  He  ate  it  greedily. 
She  had  a  large  paper  bag  of  gooseberries  lying  on  her 
lap.  When  Jock  had  finished  his  piece,  he  made  a  little 
hole  in  the  bottom  of  the  bag  with  his  finger.  Occas- 
ionally, he  slily  extracted  a  gooseberry.  His  mother 
was  so  busy  talking  to  Meg,  that  she  never  noticed 
him. 

We  were  nearing  the  pier.  The  children  began  to 
crowd  to  the  gangway. 

"Wait  to  the  crowd  gets  out,"  advised  Mrs.  David- 
son. 


THE  TRIP  43 

"Come  on,  Missis,  get  yer  parcels  gether't  up," 
shouted  a  sailor. 

"Och  Tonal' !  is  that  your  nane  sel?"  she  laughed. 

"Here,  sonny,  here's  a  handful  of  grossets  to  you." 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  gripping  the  bag  by  the  top. 
Suddenly,  the  bottom  of  the  bag  ripped  open,  and  all  the 
gooseberries  were  scattered  over  the  deck.  Mrs.  David- 
son's face  was  a  study.  Everybody  laughed. 

"A  fine  mess  you've  made  with  your  tam't  rubbish," 
cried  the  sailor  angrily. 

"Gether  them  up,  Tonal',"  she  shouted  back  from 
the  gangway.  "You  can  make  jam  with  them,  and  take 
them  hame  to  your  mither.  I'm  sure  she'll  need  it.  Ta, 
ta,  sonny,  and  see  and  keep  sober  till  we  come  back." 

We  were  scarcely  off  the  boat,  when  the  rain  came 
on,  and  stayed  on.  We  had  to  go  into  the  waiting  room 
at  the  pier,  while  the  minister  went  to  find  some  shelter 
for  us.  He  returned,  saying  he  had  got  the  use  of  a 
barn.  He  led  the  way,  and  we  all  fell  in  behind  him, 
like,  as  Mrs.  Davidson  said,  "Sheep  followin'  a  shep- 
herd." 

The  barn,  we  found,  was  a  nice,  cosy  place.  I  felt  a 
perfect  scarecrow.  My  white  dress  was  no  longer 
stiff,  but  clung  tight  to  me,  and  my  hair  was  hanging 
in  pencils  round  my  neck.  However,  I  Was  out  to  pack 
as  much  pleasure  as  I  could  into  this  long  looked  for 
day,  and  I  tried  not  to  think  of  my  appearance. 

We  sat  about,  wherever  we  could  find  seats,  then  we 
were  served  with  sandwiches  and  milk.  After  that,  we 
had  some  games. 

"Does  anyone  know  the  'Jolly  Miller'?"  shouted  the 
minister. 


44  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Was  that  the  wee,  bowly  leggit  man,  that  shifted  the 
bags  out  of  the  corner  to  let  us  get  room  when  we 
came  in?"  asked  Mrs.  Davidson. 

"No!"  answered  the  minister  with  a  laugh.  "It's 
a  game  I'm  speaking  about.  Does  anyone  know  it?" 

"Deed  no!"  said  Mrs.  Davidson,  her  face  very  red. 
"I  know  none  of  your  silly  games." 

No  one  appeared  to  know  it. 

"I'll  show  you  all  how  it  goes  then,"  ssid  the  minis- 
ter. "Watch  me,  then  we  will  play  it  together." 

He  side  stepped  up  the  barn,  with  his  coat  tails  swing- 
ing, and  began  to  sing: 

"Oh  there  was  a  jolly  miller,  and  he  lived  by  himself 
As  the  wheel  went  round  he  made  his  wealth. 
One  hand  in  the  hopper,  and  the  other  in  the  bag, 
As  the  wheel  went  round  he  made  his  grab." 

"Now,  we  go  in  pairs,"  he  said.  "At  the  word  grab, 
each  lady  lets  go,  and  catches  the  arm  of  the  gentleman 
in  front  of  her.  Whoever  is  left  without  a  partner  is 
out." 

He  took  hold  of  a  young  lady,  and  led  the  game. 

"Doesn't  he  make  a  fine  Willie  Wagtail,"  said  Mrs. 
Davidson,  with  a  laugh.  "He's  as  light  on  the  fut  as  an 
Irish  ragman.  He's  a  lively  boy  for  a  sky  pilot." 

When  they  were  tired  of  "The  Jolly  Miller,"  there 
was  a  one-legged  race  for  the  children.  I  won  a  needle 
case  at  it. 

I  got  soaked  to  the  skin,  coming  home  on  the  steamer. 
As  we  neared  the  pier,  I  saw  my  grandmother  and 
grandfather  waiting  for  us. 

"Ye're    soakin',  wean,"  said   my   grandfather  con- 


THE  TRIP  45 

cernedly,  when  we  got  on  to  the  quay.  "Here,  put  that 
shawl  roun'  her." 

My  grandmother  took  out  a  shawl  from  under  her 
dolman.  She  wrapped  it  round  me,  then  we  hurried 
home. 

When  my  wet  things  had  been  taken  off,  and  I  had 
been  regaled  with  a  hot  drink,  I  proudly  exhibited  my 
needle  case. 

Meg  corroborated  my  statement,  that  I  had  been 
talked  to,  for  ten  minutes  by  the  clock  in  the  barn,  by 
two  ladies,  two  of  the  swells. 

Also,  that  I  had  had  the  extreme  honour  of  sitting 
on  the  minister's  knee,  wet  clothes  and  all. 

Therefore,  there  was  mutual  satisfaction  all  round. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MY  MOTHER 

Ah  me!  from  real  happiness  we  stray, 

By  vice  bewildered,  vice  which  always  leads, 

However  fair  at  first,  to  wilds  of  woe. 

THOMSON. 

WASHING  day  I  always  hated.  We  got  the  use  of 
the  washing-house  for  two  days  every  fortnight.  The 
drying  green  was  in  full  view  of  all  the  back  windows. 
The  neighbours  were  very  keen  to  see  the  kind  of  gar- 
ments we  hung  out.  There  was  generally  a  head  be- 
hind the  screen  at  each  window  when  the  wash-house 
was  occupied. 

My  grandmother  and  Meg  used  to  rise  at  five  in  the 
morning,  carry  all  the  things  to  the  wash-house,  and 
light  up  the  boiler  fire.  They  took  a  great  pride  in  hav- 
ing the  clothes  snow  white.  By  dinner  time  they  would 
have  the  ropes  full  from  one  end  of  the  green  to  the 
other. 

Nearly  all  our  bed  napery  was  made  out  of  flour 
bags,  that  had  been  scrubbed  and  bleached  until  the 
printing  was  all  out.  My  grandmother  used  often  to 
take  a  lot  of  them  out  of  the  boxes,  wet  them,  and  hang 
them  up  in  the  green.  She  would  peep  through  the 
wash-house  window  to  see  if  any  of  the  neighbours 
were  looking. 

"There's  two  or  three  heads  at  ivery  window,"  she 


46 


MY  MOTHER  47 

would  say  to  Meg.  "Aha,  that  bates  them.  See  if  any 
o'  them  can  put  out  a  washin'  like  that.  Lick  into  it 
ye  boy  ye,  an'  show  them  what  we  can  do.  I'll  houl'  ye 
we'll  give  them  somethin'  to  look  at." 

They  would  rub  and  scrub  and  wring.  The  sweat 
would  be  pouring  off  their  faces,  the  boiler  roaring,  and 
the  place  full  of  steam. 

Then  I  would  be  sent  for  some  gin.  When  my  grand- 
mother had  taken  it,  there  would  be  no  more  peace  that 
day.  She  would  get  very  quarrelsome,  and  say  taunt- 
ing things  to  Meg.  Meg  took  no  notice,  but  it  made 
her  miserable. 

One  day,  when  they  were  in  the  middle  of  the  wash- 
ing, the  post  brought  a  letter  from  my  mother,  saying 
that  she  was  coming  home. 

The  man  she  had  run  away  with  was  dead.  She  had 
had  a  little  boy,  but  he  was  dead  too,  so  she  was  left 
alone. 

The  letter  caused  great  excitement.  When  my  grand- 
father came  home  and  was  told  the  news,  he  became 
very  much  'agitated.  That  night  everyone  was  very 
quiet.  Our  lodgers  were  both  away.  They  had  gone 
home  to  Ireland. 

"Will  ye  niver  go  home?"  they  used  often  to  ask  my 
grandfather. 

"Home  be  damned!"  he  would  answer  scornfully. 
"My  home  is  where  I  can  make  a  livin'.  I  niver  knew 
anything  but  hardship  an'  stervation  at  home." 

My  mother  was  expected  the  next  morning.  I  was 
awake  very  early,  greatly  excited.  At  last  I  was  to  see 
this  wonderful  mother  that  I  had  dreamt  so  much  of. 
£  wondered  how  she  would  arrive. 


48  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

In  a  cab  surely,  perhaps  with  two  horses.  A  cab 
to  us,  was  an  undreamt  of  luxury,  a  very  grand  affair 
indeed.  I  listened  eagerly  for  any  news  I  could  gather. 
Strange  to  say,  they  were  all  very  silent,  though  I  noticed 
a  look  of  expectancy  on  each  of  their  faces  every  time 
a  footstep  sounded  in  the  passage. 

I  wondered  why  they  didn't  go  to  the  station  to 
meet  her.  It  would  have  let  the  neighbors  see  that  she 
was  a  relation.  They  might  think  she  was  a  lady  visit- 
ing us  for  charity. 

At  anyrate,  I  would  show  them.  I  slipped  out,  and 
watched  in  the  direction  of  the  station.  No  sign  of  any- 
one. I  waited  and  waited. 

I  saw  my  grandfather  coming  for  his  breakfast.  I 
ran  into  the  house.  If  he  saw  me  waiting,  he  might  take 
me  in,  and  make  me  stay  in. 

"She's  no'  come  yet?"  he  asked,  as  he  sat  down  to 
the  table. 

"No'  yet,"  answered  my  grandmother,  pouring  out  his 
tea.  "She'll  no'  be  long  now." 

My  grandfather  sat  back  in  his  chair,  making  no  at- 
tempt to  touch  the  food  in  front  of  him.  A  footstep 
sounded  in  the  passage.  He  gave  a  violent  start.  I 
looked  eagerly  at  the  door.  It  was  only  Barney  coming 
in  for  his  breakfast.  He  looked  round  them  all  ques- 
tioningly.  My  grandmother  shook  her  head. 

"Take  yer  breakfast  man,"  she  said  to  my  grand- 
father. 

"I've  a  sore  head  the  day,"  he  answered  wearily. 
"I'm  no  hungry." 

Barney  started  to  his  breakfast  without  speaking.  I 
slipped  out. 


MY  MOTHER  49 

When  I  got  to  the  street  I  saw,  a  good  distance  away, 
a  cab  coming,  with  luggage  on  top.  It  must  be  her.  I 
felt  I  could  dance  with  joy. 

How  I  hoped  that  all  the  neighbours  would  be  at 
their  windows,  especially  the  Jacksons.  How  mad  it 
would  make  them  to  see  that  we  had  such  grand  rela- 
tions. I  looked  anxiously  up  at  their  window.  No,  there 
was  nobody  there.  It  would  be  terrible  if  the  cab  came, 
and  went  away  again,  without  any  of  them  having  seen 
it.  I  was  just  thinking  I  would  scream,  and  perhaps 
that  would  bring  them  out  when  the  window  was  sud- 
denly flung  open,  and  Mrs.  Jackson  stuck  her  head  out. 
She  was  evidently  watching  for  wee  Johnnie,  who  was 
coming  along  the  street  with  a  message.  The  cab  was 
just  at  the  alley.  I  ran  forward  eagerly. 

The  cabman  opened  the  door,  and  a  stylishly  dressed 
lady  stepped  out.  She  looked  at  me  and  asked : 

"Are  you  little  Jean?" 

I  nodded.    She  kissed  me,  and  took  me  by  the  hand. 

"So  this  is  the  house,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  feeling  ashamed  of  our  humble 
home. 

She  turned  to  direct  the  cabman  to  bring  her  luggage 
in.  I  glanced  up  to  see  if  Mrs.  Jackson  was  still 
at  the  window.  Yes,  there  she  was,  all  eyes  and 
ears. 

We  went  up  the  alley  into  the  house.  I  flew  in  before 
her  crying:  "She's  come,  she's  come." 

She  stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  round  them  all. 
Then  she  ran  in,  and  kissed  every  one  of  them.  Tears 
streamed  down  my  grandmother's  cheeks.  Meg  and 
Ann  were  crying  too. 


50  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

My  grandfather  sat  at  the  table,  with  his  head  bowed. 
I  never  noticed  before  how  old  he  looked. 

Barney  picked  up  his  cap  from  the  table. 

"It's  time  I  was  away,"  he  said  huskily,  turning  to- 
wards the  door. 

My  mother  squeezed  his  arm  as  he  passed  her. 

"Poor  old  Barney!"  she  said  softly. 

He  patted  her  shoulder,  and  went  out.  His  going 
seemed  to  rouse  the  others. 

"Ye'll  need  yer  breakfast,"  exclaimed  my  grand- 
mother, hastily  putting  on  the  frying  pan. 

"Ay,  get  yer  breakfast,"  said  my  grandfather,  rais- 
ing his  head.  "Ye  must  be  stervin'.  " 

But  my  mother  didn't  seem  to  mind  about  breakfast. 
She  began  opening  one  of  her  boxes.  I  noticed  her 
hands  were  shaking  so,  she  could  scarcely  turn  the  key. 
Then  she  lifted  out  presents  for  us  all.  There  was 
tobacco  for  my  grandfather,  Barney  and  Jack. 

My  grandfather  rose  to  go  to  his  work.  My  mother 
was  kneeling  at  the  box.  As  he  passed  her,  he  put  his 
hand  on  her  head.  A  bar  of  sunlight  flickered  in  at  the 
window,  glided  uncertainly  across  the  floor,  and  finally 
settled  over  where  my  grandfather  was  standing.  It  lit 
up  his  face,  making  him  look,  with  his  grey  hair  and 
beard  like  a  picture  of  Saint  Peter  we  had  in  an  old 
book. 

"May  God  keep  ye,"  he  said  solemnly,  and  passed 
out. 

My  mother  looked  after  him,  her  face  twisting 
queerly.  Then  she  gave  a  silly  kind  of  laugh.  Next 
minute,  she  put  her  head  down  on  the  box,  and  began 
to  sob. 


MY  MOTHER  51 

Jack  didn't  come  home  for  his  breakfast.  He  had 
an  early  dinner  at  twelve.  When  he  came  in,  my  mother 
kissed  him  too.  It  seemed  to  me  strange.  Kissing  was 
a  thing  unknown  in  our  house.  Jack  hardly  said  a  word 
all  the  time  he  was  in. 

We  soon  got  used  to  having  her  with  us.  She  had  a 
lot  of  beautiful  clothes,  and  apparently  plenty  of  money 
too.  She  had  sold  off  all  her  furniture  when  Harry,  as 
she  called  her  man,  had  died. 

Sometimes  she  would  dress  herself,  and  go  away  for 
the  afternoon  alone.  Once  she  took  me  with  her.  She 
went  into  public-houses  several  times  for  a  drink,  and 
warned  me  not  to  tell.  How  proud  I  felt  walking  beside 
her! 

She  wore  a  black  satin  dress,  and  a  large  picture  hat. 
A  long  gold  chain  hung  round  her  neck.  She  walked  very 
straight,  and  had  a  bold  manner.  I  thought  her  very 
nice  looking.  She  had  a  small  oval  face,  with  large  grey 
eyes.  Her  hair  was  cut  short.  I  wondered  why.  After- 
wards, I  learnt  the  reason. 

She  had  been  in  a  house  in  London  one  night.  "  A 
quarrel  had  arisen,  and  she  had  got  her  head  cut 
open. 

"If  ye  behave  yersel',  an'  stay  in  the  house,  ye  might 
get  some  decent  man  to  take  ye,"  my  grandmother 
would  say  to  her. 

"And  how  would  I  get  a  man  if  I  never  went  out  of 
the  house?"  she  would  answer  with  a  laugh.  She  spoke 
with  a  strong,  English  accent. 

When  she  had  been  at  home  about  a  month,  she  began 
to  get  restless. 

"God  knows  how  you  stand  this  life,"  she  said  to 


52  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Meg  one  day.  "If  I  had  to  suffer  it  long  I  would  go 
mad." 

"We  have  to  stand  it,"  Meg  answered,  a  little  dryly. 
"What  else  can  we  do?  You'll  soon  get  used  to  it." 

"Never  1"  she  returned,  shrugging  her  shoulders  dis- 
gustedly. 

She  was  standing  before  the  glass,  admiring  herself. 
Her  hair  was  curled  all  over  her  head.  She  had  done 
it  with  a  pair  of  curling  tongs.  It  made  her  look  very 
pretty.  She  had  put  some  stuff  on  her  eyebrows,  to 
darken  them.  I  felt  somehow,  that  she  was  a  stranger 
to  us  all.  The  only  feeling  I  had  for  her  was  admira- 
tion, because  she  was  pretty,  and  well  dressed,  and  I 
question  if  she  gave  me  any  more  than  a  passing  thought. 
Of  a  certainty  she  did  not  love  me. 

"But  you  know,  Nora,  it's  better  to  live  a  quiet,  de- 
cent life,  then  you've  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  re- 
marked Ann,  with  gentle  reproof.  "If  you  stay  at  home 
quietly,  folk  might  forget  what  you  had  done." 

My  mother  gave  a  loud,  ringing  laugh. 

"Good  for  you,  sobersides !"  she  exclaimed.  "That's 
splendid  advice.  I'll  go  and  work  in  the  fields.  It 
would  purify  me.  I'll  rise  at  five  in  the  morning,  break- 
fast at  nine  on  a  bit  of  sixpenny  ham,  home  for  dinner 
of  potatoes  and  salt  herring  at  one,  and  a  plate  of  por- 
ridge for  my  tea  when  my  work  is  done.  Then  a  nice 
long  lie  in  bed  until  the  morning.  Heavens!  what  a 
glorious  life !  No  thanks,  Ann.  I'll  have  a  good  time 
as  long  as  I'm  living,  because  I'll  be  a  long  time  dead. 
A  short  life  and  a  merry  one  is  my  motto." 

"Nora,"  said  Ann  sadly,  "don't  forget  that  you'll 
have  to  answer  for  it  all." 


MY  MOTHER  53 

But  my  mother  began  to  hum  a  music  hall  song,  un- 
concernedly. 

Next  afternoon  she  went  out,  saying  she  was  going  to 
the  city  to  buy  some  things.  She  never  returned.  It  was 
years  before  we  saw  her  again. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AT  THE  FAIR 

Oh!  enviable,  early  days, 
When  dancing  thoughtless  pleasure's  maze 
To  care,  to  guilt  unknown! 

BURNS. 

AT  this  time  I  left  school.  The  day  I  came  home  free 
was  a  happy  one  for  me.  I  could  read  and  write,  but 
that  was  about  all. 

Of  course,  in  my  grandparents'  opinion,  I  had  had  a 
splendid  education.  Fortunately,  I  had  a  great  love  of 
books.  There  were  no  books  in  our  house  but  a  few 
school  prizes.  My  grandparents  could  neither  read  nor 
write.  I  used  to  look  Jack's  pockets,  and  find  a  book 
occasionally.  I  would  slip  away  into  a  corner  with  it. 
They  were  always  about  gold  mines,  cowboys,  or  some- 
thing like  that.  I  would  begin  to  read,  and  get  lost  to 
all  around  me.  I  would  be  away  in  a  vast  forest,  or 
flying  over  the  snow  in  a  sleigh,  with  the  bells  tinkling, 
and  the  dogs  barking. 

My  dream  would  be  suddenly  shattered  by  my  grand- 
mother's voice  calling : 

"Where  the  divil  are  ye  now?  Stuck  into  some  cor- 
ner with  a  book  in  yer  oxter." 

Unwillingly  I  would  show  myself. 

"Put  down  yer  book,  Preachin'  Mery,"  she  would 
say.  "I  wonder  ye  don't  knock  yersel'  blin'." 

54 


AT  THE  FAIR  55 

I  had  to  hide  my  books  from  my  grandfather  too. 
Not  being  able  to  read  themselves,  I  think  they  imagined 
that  the  majority  of  books  were  evil.  Meg  seldom  read 
at  all.  Ann  had  never  been  at  school  owing  to  her 
trouble.  They  never  could  understand  my  love  of 
reading. 

Sometimes  we  got  an  evening  paper,  and  I  had  to 
read  out  the  news.  Meg  hated  to  read  out,  as  she  never 
could  pronounce  the  words  properly.  The  mistake  she 
made  was,  that  when  she  came  to  a  big  word,  she  tried 
to  get  the  better  of  it.  I  looked  ahead  for  the  difficult 
words,  and  ignored  the  sentence  altogether.  A  sentence 
more  or  less  didn't  make  much  difference  to  my  grand- 
father, and  so  I  was  considered  the  better  reader. 

There  was  one  book  we  got  the  loan  of  from  some- 
body. 'Prince  of  the  House  of  David,'  it  was  called.  It 
was  about  Christ's  life  on  earth,  but  written  like  a 
novel.  I  read  it  out,  a  bit  each  night,  until  it  was 
finished.  It  was  very  sad  near  the  end.  How  they 
looked  forward  every  night  to  it !  Meg  and  my  grand- 
mother would  be  busy  knitting,  but  drinking  in  every 
word.  I  was  always  very  easily  affected.  Sometimes 
I  would  have  to  stop  for  a  minute,  to  get  my  voice.  At 
the  part  where  Christ  was  taken  to  Calvary,  I  broke 
down  altogether. 

Nobody  spoke.  The  only  sound  was  the  click  of  the 
knitting  needles.  Meg  and  Ann  were  crying.  Meg 
knitted  hard,  to  try  to  hide  it.  My  grandmother  took 
off  her  glasses  to  wipe  them.  I  glanced  at  my  grand- 
father, and  saw  him  furtively  wiping  his  eyes  with  the 
back  of  his  hand. 

When  I  had  finished  reading,  they  talked  about  it 


56  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

quietly  for  a  while.  It  had  a  strangely  softening  in- 
fluence on  them.  Meg  put  on  the  kettle.  We  always 
had  a  cup  of  essence  of  coffee,  and  a  piece  of  bread, 
generally  dry,  before  going  to  bed. 

The  morning  after  I  had  finished  the  book,  we  were 
up  very  early.  It  was  the  Fair  holidays,  and  we  were 
expecting  a  niece  of  my  grandmother's  to  come  and  stay 
with  us  for  a  few  days.  Her  mother  had  died  a  few 
years  before,  leaving  her  alone  in  the  world.  She  worked 
in  a  thread  mill,  and  usually  came  to  us  on  her  holidays. 

She  was  to  arrive  in  the  forenoon,  and  we  wanted  to 
get  the  work  done,  so  as  to  be  free.  My  grandfather 
was  having  a  few  days  too,  so  he  was  going  to  take  us 
all  to  the  Fair  in  the  neighboring  town  after  dinner. 

Mary — I  of  course  called  her  my  cousin  like  the 
others — arrived  about  twelve,  laden  with  parcels.  She 
always  brought  us  presents.  I  was  sent  out  for  a  gill  of 
whisky.  My  grandfather  insisted  that  she  should  have 
a  glass  after  her  journey.  She  was  very  stout,  and  got 
short  of  breath,  but  was  good-natured,  and  a  hearty 
laugher. 

My  grandmother  made  the  whisky  into  toddy.  Mary 
drank  about  two  thirds  of  it,  then  slipped  the  rest  to  me. 
I  was  delighted  to  get  it,  as  I  was  very  fond  of  toddy. 
My  grandfather  wouldn't  have  minded  me  having  it, 
but  he  wanted  Mary  to  take  it  all  herself.  When  there 
was  any  toddy  going,  I  always  got  some. 

We  had  our  dinner  of  potatoes,  cabbage,  and  sliced 
sausages,  then  we  began  to  get  ready  for  the  Fair. 
Everyone  wanted  into  the  sink  at  the  same  time  to  wash 
her  face.  Foreseeing  this,  with  great  forethought,  I 
had  washed  mine  before  dinner.  I  had  also  had  the 


AT  THE  FAIR  57 

white  frock,  cotton  stockings,  and  blue  sash  disinterred 
and  laid  handy  for  me.  I  slipped  into  them  quickly.  All 
I  needed  was  a  hand  to  button  me  up  the  back,  then  I 
was  ready  to  help  the  others. 

"Bring  my  dicky,  Jean,"  said  my  grandfather.  "An' 
the  wais'coat.  The  stud's  in  the  pocket." 

I  brought  them.  He  put  his  hand  in  the  pocket  for 
the  stud. 

"It's  no  here,"  he  exclaimed  impatiently.  "Did  any 
o'  ye  take  a  stud  out  o'  my  wais'coat  pocket?" 

No,  nobody  had  seen  it. 

"Damn  it!"  he  cried  angrily.  "Ye  can  let  nothin' 
alone.  Folk  canna  turn  but  the  thing's  shiftit.  I  put  it 
in  that  pocket  the  last  time  I  had  it  on." 

"See  if  it's  no  in  the  dicky  stickin'?"  said  my  grand- 
mother suddenly. 

My  grandfather  lifted  the  dicky. 

"Heth !  so  it  is,"  he  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "I  could 
have  sworn  I  took  it  out." 

"Ye  shouldna  be  so  positive  about  a  thing,"  reproved 
my  grandmother,  as  she  started  to  fasten  the  dicky  on 
to  his  shirt  neck.  "It's  too  big  in  the  head  anyway.  It'll 
niver  go  through  that  button  hole." 

"Damnation !  ye're  rammin'  it  into  my  neck,  woman," 
roared  my  grandfather. 

"Try  it  yoursel'  then,"  my  grandmother  retorted, 
turning  huffily  away. 

"Maybe  I  could  manage  it,"  said  Meg. 

She  quickly  got  it  into  its  place,  without  any  undue 
suffering  on  my  grandfather's  part. 

"I'll  get  my  boots  on  now,"  he  said,  "then  I'll  be  out 
o'  yer  roads." 


58  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

He  found  the  boots,  to  discover  that  they  had  never 
been  cleaned. 

"Is  it  no  lamentable?"  he  cried  angrily.  "No  a  han' 
on  them.  God  knows  what  ye've  all  been  doin'  the 
whole  day." 

"I'll  give  them  a  rub,"  offered  Meg,  holding  out  her 
hand  for  them. 

"Niver  mind,"  he  snapped.  "I'll  take  the  brush  to 
them  myseF." 

"That's  no  the  boots  at  all,"  said  Ann,  who  had  been 
eyeing  them  over.  "That's  the  old  pair  you  said  were 
done." 

My  grandfather  turned  them  over  and  looked  at 
them. 

"So  it  is,"  he  admitted. 

The  other  ones  were  brought,  and  he  sat  down  on  a 
chair  to  put  them  on. 

"Here,  Meg,"  said  my  grandmother,  "pin  up  me 
hair,  that  me  bonnet  will  stick  on." 

Her  hair  was  up,  but  she  always  liked  Meg  to  make 
it  secure.  Meg  fastened  her  hair,  helped  her  on  with 
her  dolman,  then  looked  round  for  her  bonnet.  It  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  My  grandmother  had  had  it  in  her 
hand  five  minutes  before,  but  couldn't  remember  where 
she  had  put  it.  My  grandfather,  having  finished  lacing 
his  boots,  got  up  to  help  in  the  search. 

"Here  it's  on  the  chair,"  cried  Meg.  "He's  been 
sittin'  on  it  all  the  time." 

My  grandfather  looked  ruefully  at  the  crushed  mass 
of  ribbon  and  beads. 

"My  good  bonnet,"  wailed  my  grandmother.  "I 
may  stay  at  home  now." 


AT  THE  FAIR  59 

On  examination  however,  it  proved  to  be  none  the 
worse.  We  were  soon  all  ready,  and  off  we  went  gaily 
to  get  the  car.  As  we  neared  our  destination,  our  ears 
were  greeted  by  the  noise  of  drums,  steam  whistles, 
blaring  trumpets,  and  organs,  all  blended  together. 
When  we  turned  into  the  Fair  ground,  it  grew  into  a 
perfect  pandemonium  of  sound. 

"Min'  yersel's  now,"  said  my  grandfather  warningly 
to  us.  "Put  yer  purse  in  a  safe  place,  Mary.  An', 
Jean,  see  an'  keep  a  hold  o'  one  o'  us." 

I  had  sixpence,  and  four  pennies  that  I  had  saved  up 
for  the  occasion.  Seeing  my  grandfather  was  in  such  a 
lordly  mood,  I  expected  he  would  defray  all  my  ex- 
penses. 

Any  little  trifle  I  might  want,  Mary  would  likely  buy 
me.  Thinking  therefore  that  I  would  save  the  sixpence 
for  some  other  occasion  when  the  money  wasn't  so  plen- 
tiful, I  slipped  the  sixpence  into  the  top  of  my  stocking, 
and  shook  it  down  into  the  sole  of  my  shoe  for  safety. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  Fair,  was  a  row  of  photo- 
graphic studios.  As  we  were  passing  one  of  them,  the 
owner  gripped  my  grandfather  by  the  lapel  of  the  coat, 
and  urged  him  to  get  his  photograph  taken.  My  grand- 
father told  him  he  did  not  want  it,  but  the  man  persisted, 
and  held  on  to  his  coat.  Then  my  grandfather  got 
angry. 

"If  that's  a  speciman  o'  yer  picters  hingin'  out  there," 
he  said,  pointing  to  some  that  were  hanging  in  a  frame 
at  the  door,  "I'd  sooner  have  the  sixpence  in  my  pocket." 

"I  suppose  you  'aven't  got  a  sixpence  to  spare,"  said 
the  man  sarcastically,  seeing  it  was  of  no  use. 

"Sixpence  to  spare,"  retorted  my  grandfather  hotly, 


60  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"I  would  spen'  more  here  in  an  hour  than  would  buy  all 
her  clap  trap  twice  over." 

"The  likes  o'  ye  talkin',"  broke  in  my  grandmother. 
"We  couldna  spare  the  sixpence  indeed!  Ye  sterved 
lookin'  sowl  that  ye  are.  There's  no  as  much  on  ye  as 
would  pad  a  crutch." 

But  the  man  was  evidently  impervious  to  insult,  much 
to  her  disappointment,  and  turned  away  indifferently  to 
look  for  a  more  likely  customer. 

We  walked  on.  The  wild  beast  show  was  just  com- 
ing out,  so  we  went  over  to  see  it.  A  big  negro,  in  a 
scarlet  plush  coat,  started  to  beat  the  drum.  Two  girls 
in  tights  came  out  and  began  to  dance.  We  watched 
them  for  a  while.  The  people  began  to  push  in  again, 
and  my  grandfather  said  we  would  go  too.  He  led 
the  way,  and  the  five  of  us  followed  him  up  the  steps. 
It  was  twopence  each  for  admission. 

The  tent  was  pretty  dark.  Down  both  sides  were 
cages  with  monkeys,  leopards,  tigers,  and  other  animals. 
At  the  foot,  facing  the  door,  was  a  large  cage  contain- 
ing a  lion.  There  was  a  great  crowd  of  people  round  it. 

It  was  a  very  hot  day,  and  the  place  was  stifling. 
The  air  was  full  of  the  blended  odours  of  tobacco,  beer, 
perspiration,  and  animals.  We  were  not  long  in,  when 
the  curtain  that  closed  the  entrance  was  pulled  aside. 
The  organ  stopped  playing,  and  the  big  negro  left  off 
beating  the  drum.  A  man  dressed  up  to  look  like 
'Buffalo  Bill'  cracked  a  whip;  and  pointed  inside  the  tent. 

"This  way,  ladies  and  gentleman,"  he  shouted,  "for 
the  great  untameable  lion  'Nero'.  The  only  chance 
you'll  ever  'ave.  This,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  slap- 
ped a  picture  in  front  with  his  whip,  "this  magnificent 


AT  THE  FAIR  61 

specimen  of  a  lion  is  the  same  one  that  killed  his  keeper 
last  year.  Captain  Joyce,  here,"  slapping  the  negro  on 
the  shoulder,  "will  enter  the  cage,  and  perform  the 
same  trick  that  killed  the  other  man.  That  is,  putting 
his  'ead  in  the  lion's  mouth." 

He  turned  to  those  inside  the  tent. 

"Make  way  there,  ladies  and  gentleman,"  he  shouted, 
"and  let  the  people  see  the  great  untameable  lion." 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  inside  were  not  very  willing 
to  stand  to  one  side,  but  a  little  gentle  persuasion  from 
the  negro's  elbows  made  them  change  their  minds,  and 
a  passage  was  cleared  that  the  crowd  might  see  this 
wonderful  animal. 

"Now,  ladies  and  gentleman,  this  is  absolutely  your 
only  chance  to  see  the  world  famed  'Nero'.  One  more 
tune  and  we  begin." 

The  organ  started  again.  The  negro  applied  the 
drum  sticks  viciously,  and  'Buffalo  Bill'  dropped  the 
curtain. 

There  was  a  rush  inside  the  tent,  to  see  who  could  get 
nearest  the  lion's  cage.  The  anticipation  of  perhaps 
having  the  tremendous  experience  of  seeing  a  man's 
head  nipped  off,  made  everyone  fight  wildly  to  get  to 
the  front. 

I  was  behind  my  grandfather,  and  was  nearly  suffo- 
cated. A  big  man  lifted  me  up,  and  held  me  round  the 
waist.  He  was  chewing  tobacco,  and  breathing  right 
in  my  face.  It  nearly  made  me  sick. 

"Damnation !"  roared  my  grandfather,  to  a  man  in 
front  of  him,  "come  off  my  fit.  Ye're  crushin'  it  to  jeely." 

"Keep  your  feet  out  the  road  then,"  returned  the  man 
rudely.  "I  paid  my  twopence  as  well  as  you." 


62  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"The  twopence  didna  include  my  feet  for  a  door 
mat,"  snapped  my  grandfather. 

My  grandmother,  who  had  got  separated  from  my 
grandfather  by  the  crowd,  was  pushing  her  way  over, 
the  light  of  battle  in  her  eyes,  and  her  bonnet  hanging 
over  one  ear.  Meg,  however,  after  a  deal  of  persua- 
sion, managed  to  get  them  over  to  the  other  side  of  the 
tent,  away  from  the  man. 

The  curtain  was  again  drawn  aside,  the  music  stop- 
ped, and  the  negro  came  inside.  The  pushing  and 
squeezing  began  again,  with  greater  violence  than  ever. 
Two  men  came  in  from  a  side  door,  carrying  a  brazier 
of  burning  coal.  They  placed  it  within  the  rail  that  was 
in  front  of  the  lion's  cage.  Taking  two  long,  iron  poles, 
they  put  the  ends  into  the  brazier  until  they  were  red 
hot.  Then  they  lifted  them  out,  and  pointed  them  at 
the  lion,  while  the  negro  was  opening  the  door  of  the 
cage. 

"That's  all  bunkum,"  whispered  a  man  standing  be- 
side my  grandfather.  "Only  for  show.  That  beast 
would  eat  out  your  han'." 

"Do  ye  tell  me  that?"  said  my  grandfather,  in  a  dis- 
appointed tone. 

The  negro  had  got  into  the  cage,  and  was  chasing  the 
lion  round  with  his  whip.  Lastly,  he  opened  the  lion's 
mouth  and  put  his  head  partly  in.  Everybody  held  their 
breath.  Nothing  happened.  The  curtains  were  drawn 
aside,  and  the  music  started.  The  show  was  over. 

There  was  a  look  of  disappointment  on  everyone's 
face. 

"Where's  Mery?"  asked  my  grandfather  suddenly, 
when  we  came  out. 


AT  THE  FAIR  63 

Nobody  knew.  We  had  thought  she  was  beside  us 
all  the  time.  We  were  beginning  to  get  very  anxious, 
when  we  saw  her.  Her  hat  was  all  to  the  side,  and  her 
umbrella  was  broken  in  two. 

"In  the  name  o'  Providence,  what's  wrong?"  cried 
my  grandfather.  "How  did  ye  break  yer  umbrell'  ?" 

"A  drunken  beast  o'  a  man  put  his  arm  roun'  my 
neck,"  she  answered  excitedly,  "and  I  broke  it  over 
his  back." 

"Ye  might  have  kep'  beside  us,"  returned  my  grand- 
father testily. 

"I  got  shoved  away  in  the  crowd,"  she  answered 
crossly,  and  putting  her  hand  to  the  front  of  her  bodice, 
began  to  cry  wildly,  "My  purse,  my  purse,  I've  lost  it!" 

"Look  again,  an'  see  if  it's  no'  slipped  down  some- 
way," said  my  grandfather,  in  great  concern. 

I  looked  on  in  dismay.  If  Mary's  purse  were  gone, 
my  sixpence  would  have  to  be  brought  to  the  surface 
again. 

She  began  clutching  over  her  blouse.  Suddenly,  she 
gave  a  gasp  of  relief. 

"I've  got  it,"  she  cried  joyfully.  It  had  only  slipped 
down. 

In  the  pleasure  of  finding  her  purse,  she  ceased  to 
vex  herself  about  her  broken  umbrella,  and  became 
quite  cheery  again. 

Greatly  relieved,  we  pushed  on  through  the  crowd. 
My  grandfather  won  a  cocoanut  at  'Love  in  a  tub'. 
Meg  and  I  got  Mary  coaxed  to  go  on  the  switchback, 
but  she  yelled  so  much,  that  the  man  had  to  stop  it,  and 
let  her  off.  A  green  bird  told  me,  through  a  piece  of 
paper  which  it  presented  to  me  in  its  bill,  that  I  would 


64,  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

be  married  in  a  month,  and  have  fifteen  of  a  family, 
for  which  information  my  grandfather  paid  a  penny. 
Mary  bought  me  three  gold  bangles,  and  a  watch. 

We  were  standing  outside  a  show  where  there  was 
a  fat  lady  on  exhibition.  It  was  a  penny  each,  and  we 
were  wondering  whether  to  go  in  or  not,  when  a  man 
came  and  handed  Mary  a  penny.  She  looked  at  him 
in  surprise. 

"What's  this  for?"  she  asked. 

"I  thought  you  were  the  fat  woman  come  out  to  lift 
the  pennies  yourself  for  a  change,"  he  answered,  with 
pretended  innocence. 

Mary  was  so  enraged,  that  before  she  dould  think  of 
a  cutting  answer,  the  man  had  disappeared  in  the  crowd, 
laughing  loudly. 

My  grandfather  and  grandmother,  who  were  behind 
us,  had  a  good  laugh  over  it,  unknown  to  Mary. 

We  visited  several  other  shows,  then,  as  we  were  be- 
ginning to  get  tired,  we  started  for  home.  On  the  way 
to  the  car,  we  went  into  a  public-house,  and  had  some 
refreshment. 

That  night,  we  agreed  that  it  was  the  most  glorious 
day  we  had  had  since  the  last  Fair. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  STIGMA 

Yet  over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear, 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 

And  said  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear. 
The  place  is  haunted f 

T.  HOOD. 

As  I  grew  up,  I  seemed  to  be  watched  more  closely. 
I'm  sure  my  grandparents  thought  that  the  seeds  of 
evil  were  sown  in  me.  They  would  have  to  watch,  and, 
at  the  first  sign  of  development,  crush  them  out  with  a 
firm  hand. 

It  was  strange  how  the  one  thing  that  is  the  fore- 
runner of  all  evil  was  indulged  in  freely  before  me. 
When  my  mother  was  a  girl,  if  there  had  been  less 
drinking,  perhaps  she  would  have  found  home  a  more 
desirable  place  and  might  not  have  looked  for  distrac- 
tion elsewhere.  Perhaps,  too,  if  she  had  been  led,  in- 
stead of  driven,  things  might  have  turned  out  different. 

Drink,  of  course,  was  her  ultimate  ruin.  What  other 
example  had  she  before  her?  I  know  drink  was  the 
curse  of  our  home;  the  cause  of  all  the  heart-ache  and 
misery.  My  grandparents  were  terribly  headstrong. 
There  was  no  use  trying  to  reason  with  them.  What 
they  wanted  was  blind  obedience  to  their  will.  We  girls 
never  dared  to  dispute  it. 

65 


66  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

The  girls  that  I  knew  could  go  to  the  shore,  or  wan- 
der about  the  woods  as  they  liked.  I  had  always  to 
stay  about  the  door.  Sometimes  I  did  slip  away  for  a 
little  while,  but  I  never  enjoyed  it.  I  was  afraid  that 
perhaps  someone  who  knew  me,  would  see  me,  and  tell 
them  at  home. 

Sometimes  I  would  ask  my  grandmother  if  I  could  go 
out  for  a  little.  Perhaps  she  would  tell  me  to  go  for 
half  an  hour.  When  my  grandfather  came  in  she  would 
tell  him  I  was  out  far  longer,  though  I  had  not  stayed 
beyond  the  prescribed  time.  My  grandfather  would 
come  out  and  look  for  me,  then  I  would  catch  it. 

I  do  not  wish  to  give  the  impression  that  they  were 
always  harsh  to  me ;  far  from  it.  It  was  quite  evident, 
though,  that  they  had  a  dread  of  me  following  in  my 
mother's  footsteps. 

Meg  and  I  used  to  go  to  the  church  on  Sundays,  to 
the  forenoon  service.  Occasionally  my  grandfather 
would  go,  but  not  often.  He  was  a  little  deaf,  and 
couldn't  hear  the  sermon  very  well.  I  think  he  soothed 
his  conscience  by  sending  us. 

One  Saturday  when  he  was  in  a  good  humour,  he 
bought  Meg  a  feather  boa.  The  Sunday  was  fine,  so 
she  put  it  on  to  church. 

When  she  came  back,  she  laid  it  on  the  room  bed. 
Jack  asked  me  to  go  to  an  ice  cream  shop  for  some 
cigarettes.  I  put  on  my  hat,  and,  seeing  the  boa  lying 
on  the  bed,  thoughtlessly  slipped  it  round  my  neck.  I 
thought  I  would  be  such  a  swell,  and  they  would  never 
know.  I  left  the  door  slightly  ajar  when  I  went  out, 
so  I  could  slip  in  again  unseen.  I  got  the  cigarettes,  ad- 
mired myself  in  the  mirror  and  then  hurried  back.  To 


THE  STIGMA  67 

my  dismay,  I  found  the  door  shut.  What  was  I  to  do? 
If  anyone  opened  the  door,  they  would  see  the  boa. 

Suddenly,  it  was  thrown  open,  and  my  grandfather 
stood  before  me.  Before  I  had  time  to  think,  he  caught 
me  by  the  hair,  pulled  me  into  the  lobby,  then  ran  me 
into  the  big  room. 

"God's  curse  on  ye  for  a  W s  B d,"  he  said, 

in  a  voice  trembling  with  passion.  "Ye  damned  whelp 
that  ye  are,  I'll  put  the  pride  out  ye.  God  knows,  the 
like  o'  ye  has  much  need  to  be  dressed.  The  next  time 
that  I  catch  ye  puttin'  on  anythin'  belongin'  to  anybody 

m_ru_» 

He  ran  at  me,  his  hands  opening  and  shutting  spas- 
modically, as  if  he  were  unable  to  control  them.  I 
cowered  back  into  the  corner,  terrified  at  the  look  of 
dreadful  anger  on  his  face. 

"The  next  time,"  he  said,  shaking  his  fist  in  my  face, 
"I'll  make  the  blood  fly  out  your  mooth." 

Then  he  turned  away  quickly,  as  if  fearful  that  the 
sight  of  me  might  provoke  him  beyond  control. 

I  stood  in  the  corner,  where  he  had  left  me,  for  a 
little.  I  was  trembling  all  over.  Something  seemed  to 
be  choking  me.  Then  I  slipped  down  on  the  chair  be- 
side me,  and  sobbed  as  if  my  heart  would  break.  I  did 
not  make  any  noise.  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  let 
any  of  them  hear  me,  besides,  my  tears  were  the  silent 
kind  that  tear  the  heart. 

It  wasn't  the  physical  pain  that  hurt  me,  although  the 
side  of  my  head  was  throbbing.  It  was  the  words  that 
had  cut  me  to  the  heart. 

It  was  the  first  time  such  names  had  been  applied  to 
me,  but  not  by  any  means  the  last.  It  is  said  that  one 


68  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

gets  used  to  anything.  It  was  not  the  case  with  me. 
Those  names  never  failed  to  wound  me.  I  know  they 
have  been  said  without  any  deliberate  intention  of  hurt- 
ing me.  At  home,  they  never  realised  what  an  abnor- 
mally sensitive  nature  I  had. 

Poor  grandfather!  I  do  not  harbour  a  single  hard 
thought  of  him.  I  know  that  he  was  a  good,  well- 
meaning  man  and  did  what  was  right,  according  to  his 
lights.  If  they  were  a  little  obscured  by  ignorance  it 
was  not  his  fault.  Besides,  he  was  far  from  being  alone 
in  his  opinion  that  the  daughter  may,  and  possibly  will 
inherit  the  mother's  vices.  In  fact,  I  believe  that  is  the 
general  opinion.  I  know  I  have  heard  it  voiced  pretty 
often  by  people  that  certainly  couldn't  plead  ignorance. 
They  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  the  body  can  be  made 
subservient  to  the  soul.  The  soul  is  God's  gift.  Its 
development  depends  on  ourselves. 

Between  my  married  brother's  family  and  ours,  a 
rivalry  had  sprung  up.  The  superiority  of  herself  and 
family,  seemed  suddenly  to  dawn  on  my  sister-in-law. 
She  began  to  remember  that  she  had  rich  relations.  She 
had  a  sister  that  had  married  well. 

On  a  Sunday  when  we  had  broth,  I  was  generally  sent 
over  to  them  with  a  jugful.  Perhaps  they  would  have 
a  dumpling,  and  they  would  send  a  bit  back  to  us. 

One  Sunday  after  my  sister-in-law  had  been  to  church, 
she  called  in  to  our  house  on  the  way  home,  apparently, 
for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  us,  but  in  reality,  to  blow  a 
bit.  She  began  to  tell  us  of  a  wealthy  relation  that  she 
had  who  was  ill.  If  it  pleased  Providence  to  remove 
this  person  from  all  earthly  sorrows,  my  sister-in-law 
would  give  Him  thanks,  and  be  a  great  deal  the  richer. 


THE  STIGMA  69 

My  grandparents  were  very  angry  after  she  went 
out.  They  said  they  believed  it  was  all  a  lot  of  lies. 

Shortly  after  she  had  gone  away,  I  went  to  her  house 
with  a  jug  of  broth.  Just  as  I  raised  my  hand  to 
knock,  I  heard  my  sister-in-law's  voice  speaking  loudly. 
I  thought  if  I  listened  a  minute,  I  might  hear  some 
useful  information.  I  heard  her  go  over  the  whole  story 
she  had  told  us.  It  seemed,  from  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  to  give  her  immense  satisfaction  that  she  had 
at  last  gulled  us,  as  she  imagined  into  believing 
that  she  had  superior  relations.  I  knocked  at  the  door, 
and  innocently  delivered  my  broth.  When  I  related 
what  I  had  heard  at  home,  they  were  mad,  then  they 
saw  the  humour  of  it,  and  had  a  good  laugh. 

Shortly  after,  they  removed  to  a  larger  house.  They 
only  stayed  a  year  in  it  though.  It  was  a  fearful 
house.  My  brother  was  not  superstitious  at  all,  but  he 
said  there  was  certainly  something  about  that  house  that 
was  uncanny. 

None  of  them  dared  stay  in  a  room  alone.  My 
brother  had  tried  it  several  times.  Each  time,  his  name 
was  called  out  imperatively  behind  him,  but  no  one  was 
to  be  seen.  Such  a  fear  always  came  over  him,  that  he 
was  glad  to  get  out.  It  was  the  same  if  any  of  the 
others  went  in  alone.  As  soon  as  they  went  to  bed  in 
the  kitchen,  the  noise  of  slippered  feet  would  be  heard 
walking  backwards  and  forwards  at  the  bedside.  Then 
there  would  be  a  sound  as  if  someone  were  rolling  mar- 
bles all  over  the  floor.  One  night  when  the  girls,  who 
slept  in  a  bedroom  off  the  kitchen,  were  going  to  bed, 
the  candle  was  blown  out  three  times.  It  got  so  on 
their  nerves,  that  they  were  afraid  to  move  about  the 


70  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

house.  If  it  happened  that  they  all  had  to  go  out  and 
leave  my  sister-in-law  in  by  herself,  she  sat  with  the 
house  door  wide  open.  The  noise  of  the  traffic  kept  her 
from  being  so  frightened. 

Very  soon  after  that,  some  quarrel  arose  between 
my  brother's  family  and  ours.  For  two  years  my 
brother  passed  my  grandfather  in  the  street  without 
speaking.  My  grandfather  felt  it  keenly.  After  one 
of  these  meetings,  he  would  come  in  and  sit  down,  look- 
ing so  vexed. 

"Isn't  it  terrible  for  a  man  to  pass  his  own  father  in 
the  street,"  he  would  say  sadly. 

"Him  a  man,"  my  grandmother  would  answer  bitter- 
ly. "He's  only  a  Jenny;  ivery  dog  has  its  day,  though. 
They'll  no  ay  be  so  big." 

But  my  grandfather  would  stare  into  the  fire,  a  look 
of  pain  on  his  face. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WE  GET  A  PIANO 

To  show  the  strength  and  infamy  of  pride 
By  all  'tis  followed,  and  by  all  denied. 

YOUNG. 

AFTER  we  had  ceased  to  be  on  speaking  terms  with 
my  brother's  family,  Meg  and  my  grandmother  used 
often  to  take  a  walk  past  their  window.  They  always 
waited  until  it  was  dark,  so  that  they  wouldn't  be  seen. 

Occasionally  I  went  with  them.  The  window  was 
high  up,  but  as  they  hardly  ever  put  down  the  blind, 
we  could  see  into  the  room.  For  my  part,  I  didn't  see 
any  novelty  in  a  thing  we  had  seen  dozens  of  times. 
If  there  were  only  a  pair  of  clean  curtains  on  the  win- 
dow, or  a  picture  shifted  on  the  part  of  the  wall  that 
was  visible,  it  kept  Meg  and  my  grandmother  in  con- 
versation all  the  way  home. 

One  night  they  went  on  the  prowl,  I  happened  to  be 
with  them.  There  was  nothing  new,  and  we  were  just 
turning  away  from  the  window,  when  we  were  startled 
by  the  sound  of  a  piano.  We  looked  at  one  another, 
the  same  question  on  each  face.  Was  it  possible  that 
they  had  got  a  piano?  The  very  thought  of  it 
made  us  wild.  Yes,  there  it  was  again.  We  stood  on 
the  pavement,  silently  listening.  Someone  was  trying 
to  go  over  the  scale,  and  the  sound  was  coming  from 
their  room  too. 

71 


72  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Deeply  mortified,  we  turned  homewards.  Such  grand- 
eur fairly  took  our  breath  away.  We  never  said  a 
word  on  the  way  home. 

Pianos  were  rare  things  in  our  locality.  Certainly, 
Mrs.  Boyle  beside  us  had  one.  She  went  out  charing, 
and  had  got  it  in  return  for  a  day's  work.  It  was  an 
old  thing  about  the  size  of  a  chest,  and  had  a  sound 
like  the  tinkle  of  a  tin  can.  Besides,  it  could  not  stand 
alone.  They  had  to  prop  it  up  in  front  with  pieces  of 
wood.  They  had  a  frill  of  turkey  red  round  the  front 
to  hide  its  crippled  condition,  but  I  knew.  I  had  made  it 
my  business  to  know.  At  first  when  they  got  it,  I  had 
looked  in  at  the  window  when  they  were  all  out,  and 
had  seen  it.  The  frill  was  on,  so  I  thought  it  was  all 
right.  One  day,  when  Mrs.  Boyle  was  washing,  I  no- 
ticed the  frill  hanging  up  in  the  green.  I  thought  I 
would  see  what  like  the  piano  was  when  it  was  un- 
dressed, and  peeped  in  at  the  window.  Then  I  saw 
that  we  had  been  jealous  about  nothing.  It  was  only 
the  remains  of  a  piano. 

When  we  got  home,  and  told  them  the  news,  they 
were  dum founded. 

"A  piany!"  exclaimed  my  grandfather  in  astonish- 
ment. "Heth!  they've  much  need  o'  a  piany.  Their 
meat  would  fit  them  better.  Oh,  they're  goin'  out  o'  it 
all  thegither."  He  crossed  and  recrossed  his  legs,  a 
habit  he  had  when  angry.  "They'll  get  a  settlin'  though. 
Heth !  ye'll  see  that  before  long." 

"It's  yon  woman,"  said  Barney.  "She'll  go  off  her 
nut  yet  with  pride." 

Jack  said  little.  The  matter  seemed  to  give  him 
food  for  thought. 


WE  GET  A  PIANO  73 

After  that,  our  excursions  past  the  window  were 
more  frequent. 

We  always  heard  the  piano,  and  listened  eagerly  for 
anything  resembling  a  tune.  But  no.  We  were  merci- 
fully spared  that  ordeal. 

As  long  as  they  couldn't  play  anything,  we  felt  we 
could  bear  it. 

Some  time  passed.  One  day,  when  Jack  came  in  for 
his  dinner,  he  electrified  us  by  saying  that  he  thought 
we  might  get  a  piano  too.  Such  a  thought  had  never 
in  our  wildest  dreams  entered  our  heads.  Jack  very 
soon  showed  us  that  he  was  in  dead  earnest.  The 
thought  of  it  overwhelmed  us  with  joy.  If  we  got  a 
piano,  the  Jacksons  would  go  simply  mad  with  envy. 

When  my  grandfather  came  in,  Jack  broached  the 
subject  to  him. 

My  grandfather  stared  at  him  with  his  mouth  open. 

"Begod !"  he  said  testily,  "I  think  ye're  off  yer  head." 

But  when  Jack  let  him  understand  that  he  was  going 
to  pay  it  up  himself  by  instalments,  he  changed  his 
tune. 

"Ay!"  he  admitted  his  face  brightening  up  at  the 
thought  of  being  upsides  with  his  son,  "ay,  it  would  be 
a  gran'  bit  o'  furniture." 

Greatly  excited,  they  discussed  the  matter  the  whole 
evening.  It  was  arranged  that  we  should  go  to  Glas- 
gow on  the  following  Saturday. 

I  was  to  go  with  Jack  and  my  grandparents.  We 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  looking  up  the  papers  for 
shops  that  did  business  on  the  instalment  system.  Jack 
fixed  on  one  in  the  Paisley  Road. 

Saturday  came,  and  we  got  ready  to  go.     Seeing  my 


74  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

grandfather  in  a  good  mood,  I  asked  him  timidly  if  I 
was  to  be  taught  to  play  it. 

"What  !"*he  cried,  drawing  down  his  brows.  "Learnt 
to  play  it!  What  are  ye  talkin'  about?" 

"Surely  if  you  get  the  piano  bought  for  you,  you  can 
send  her  a  quarter  anyway,"  said  Jack. 

My  grandfather  thought  hard  for  a  minute.  I'm 
sure  it  never  had  struck  him  that  it  had  to  be  learnt 
at  all. 

"Oh  well,"  he  answered  slowly,  "we'll  see  about  it." 

Off  we  went  for  the  train.  Meg  and  Ann  watched 
us  away,  hoping  to  hear  of  great  things  on  our  return. 

We  arrived  in  Glasgow,  and,  after  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  to  ourselves,  and  some  annoyance  to  numerous 
policemen,  we  found  Paisley  Road.  The  shop  we  had 
fixed  on  was  a  very  large  establishment.  Jack  was 
kind  of  shy  of  entering.  The  four  of  us  were  going  in 
of  course. 

"We'll  go  in  then,"  said  my  grandfather,  looking 
very  important. 

As  we  entered  the  shop,  a  polished  looking  gentle- 
man, with  eyeglasses,  came  to  meet  us. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you  today?"  he  asked,  smiling 
and  rubbing  his  hands. 

"Oh,"  said  my  grandfather  in  a  casual  manner, 
"we've  come  in  to  look  at  some  pianys." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  returned  the  man,  with  a  smile. 
"Come  this  way,  please." 

We  followed  him  through  the  shop  into  the  show 
room. 

"Plenty  of  choice  here,"  he  remarked.  "About  what 
price  would  you  like  it?" 


WE  GET  A  PIANO  75 

My  grandfather  looked  at  Jack,  who  explained  to 
the  man  that  we  wanted  it  on  the  instalment  system. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  the  man,  his  manner  changing  a 
little.  "That'll  be  all  right.  You'll  have  to  pay  down 
a  few  pounds  though." 

Jack  said  he  would  do  so. 

The  man  opened  a  piano  and  ran  his  fingers  over  the 
keys. 

"Can  the  girl  play?"  he  asked,  looking  at  me. 

Jack  said  no.  I  felt  greatly  humbled.  It  seemed  a 
terrible  thing  to  be  buying  a  piano  and  not  be  able  to 
play  it. 

He  played  a  few  notes  to  let  us  hear  the  tone.  We, 
of  course,  knew  nothing  whatever  about  pianos.  My 
grandfather  tried  to  look  as  if  it  was  an  every  day 
affair  to  him. 

At  last  Jack  fixed  on  one  that  we  liked  the  sound  of. 
He  paid  down  four  pounds,  and  the  instalments  were 
arranged.  They  were  to  be  paid  monthly,  and  the 
piano  was  to  be  sent  down  on  Monday. 

Sunday  seemed  a  tremendous  long  day.  Monday 
came,  and  we  waited  all  day,  but  there  were  no  signs 
of  a  piano.  Tuesday,  the  same.  We  were  in  a  state. 

Wednesday  morning,  my  grandfather  was  working 
on  the  railway,  near  the  goods  station.  When  he  came 
home,  he  told  us  that  there  was  a  piano  there,  in  a 
wooden  case.  It  must  be  ours.  He  was  very  angry. 

The  man  in  the  goods  station  knew  him,  and  he 
thought  he  was  keeping  it  back  purposely  to  take  him 
down. 

"If  it  belong't  to  any  o'  the  swells,  they'd  soon  take 
it  home,"  said  my  grandmother  angrily. 


76  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Heth!  they  would,"  answered  my  grandfather. 
"Wait  a  wee  though.  I'll  smerten  them  up  a  bit  I'll 
houl'  ye  they'll  no  make  a  fool  o'  me." 

We  waited  anxiously  until  he  would  come  home  at 
dinner  time,  and  tell  us  the  result. 

He  came  in,  a  look  of  satisfaction  on  his  face. 

"Well,  how  did  ye  get  on?"  asked  my  grandmother 
impatiently. 

"Heth,  I  sortit  them,"  he  said  proudly.  "Over  I  goes 
to  the  goods  station.  Jock  Glen  was  there,  an'  another 
kin'  o'  clerk  crater,  wi'  a  pen  stuck  behin'  his  ear.  I 
says  to  Jock : 

"  'Have  ye  a  piany  o'  mine  here?'  He  looked  agat 
me  wi'  his  mouth  open.  Begod!  he  was  that  much 
ta'en,  he  could  hardly  speak.  'Are  ye  gettin'  a  piany?' 
he  says.  'Ay,'  I  says,  'I'm  no  only  gettin'  it,  but  I've  got 
it.  I  think  if  I'm  no  mista'en,  that's  it.'  I  pointit  to  the 
one  that  was  sittin'  in  the  shed.  'If  it's  no  deliver't  out 
o'  that  smert,  ye'll  hear  aboot  it.'  Then  I  turn't  on 
my  heel  an'  walk't  oot." 

"Boys,  oh  boys!  but  ye  did  well,"  cried  my  grand- 
mother in  a  satisfied  tone.  "This'll  give  them  some- 
thin'  to  talk  about.  It'll  fair  kill  them." 

The  piano  arrived  that  afternoon.  I  think  that  was 
the  proudest  day  of  my  grandmother's  life.  The  pas- 
sage was  narrow.  It  was  a  tight  squeeze  to  get  the 
piano  through,  but  my  grandmother  kept  close  to  the 
men,  at  the  risk  of  being  jammed  flat  against  the 
wall. 

Mrs.  Jackson,  in  her  efforts  to  see  well,  leant  so  hard 
on  a  flower  pot  that  was  on  her  window  sill,  that  she 
over-balanced  it. 


WE  GET  A  PIANO  77 

Fortunately,  it  didn't  hit  anyone,  but  it  made  a  mess. 
My  grandmother  treated  her  to  a  few  choice  remarks, 
but  she  was  so  mad  at  being  caught  watching,  she  made 
no  answer.  Drawing  her  head  in  hastily,  she  banged 
down  the  window. 

That  afternoon  Meg  and  I  were  at  the  piano  all  the 
time.  When  Jack  and  my  grandfather  came  home  we 
were  able  to  play  a  tune  with  a  distant  resemblance  to 
"We're  a'  noddin' "  with  one  finger. 

My  grandmother  had  made  the  men  put  it  just  within 
the  room  so  that  anyone  coming  to  the  door  could  see 
it  from  the  end  of  the  lobby.  We  used  to  go  into  the 
big  room  and  look  and  look  at  it. 

After  a  week  or  so,  Jack  spoke  about  me  being  taught 
to  play  it. 

My  grandfather  said  he  would  pay  for  a  quarter.  I 
was  sent  to  arrange  with  a  man  who  taught  music.  He 
said  he  would  come  to  the  house  half  an  hour  every 
week.  He  was  a  very  eccentric  man.  When  he  came 
to  give  me  my  lesson,  Meg  and  my  grandmother  took 
turns  of  watching  through  the  keyhole.  They  thought 
it  great  fun,  but  I  didn't  like  it,  because  it  kept  me  from 
giving  any  attention  to  my  lesson. 

When  the  quarter  was  finished  my  grandfather 
thought  that  was  all  that  was  needed.  Poor  man,  he 
didn't  know  a  thing  about  music. 

Jack  wasn't  pleased,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done.  I  couldn't  get  practising  either.  They  didn't 
understand  that  practising  was  needed.  After  a  few 
weeks,  I  just  played  by  the  ear.  I  used  to  play,  or 
thump,  rather,  to  torment  the  Jacksons.  As  soon  as  I 
started,  they  would  begin  to  hammer  at  coals.  It  al- 


78  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

ways  ended  in  a  kind  of  duel  of  who  could  make  the 
most  noise  to  drown  the  other. 

"Play  up,  damn  ye!"  my  grandmother  would  cry  ex- 
citedly. "Don't  let  them  dirt  up  the  stair  droon  ye." 

When  anyone  came  in,  I  had  always  to  play  "The 
Protestant  Boys."  The  louder  I  played  it,  the  better 
they  were  pleased. 

Jack  was  at  me  continually  to  practise  what  I  had 
been  taught,  but  I  never  did.  He  was  very  vexed  about 
it,  but  I  didn't  know  any  better  at  the  time. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  PANTOMIME 

The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

WORDSWORTH. 

VERY  often  we  ran  short  of  ready  money  at  home. 
Something  would  turn  up  that  had  to  be  paid  at  once.  I 
would  be  sent  to  the  town,  to  pawn  my  grandfather's 
chain.  I  liked  to  go  to  the  town,  but  I  hated  to  go  to 
the  "pawn."  I  was  always  warned  to  come  straight 
home  when  I  got  my  message,  so  I  had  not  a  chance  to 
see  very  much.  My  grandfather  could  calculate  so 
well  the  time  it  would  take  me. 

The  "pawn"  I  was  sent  to  was  in  a  close,  and  up 
two  stairs.  Very  dirty,  dilapidated  stairs  they  were, 
too.  I  hated  to  go  in,  for  fear  any  acquaintance  might 
see  me.  I  would  walk  past  the  close  several  times,  my 
face  burning.  I  imagined  every  eye  was  on  me.  I  felt 
as  I  think  a  thief  must  feel,  when  trying  to  dispose  of 
stolen  goods. 

There  was  a  shop  at  the  side  of  the  close.  I  would 
stand  at  the  window  looking  in,  trying  to  gather  cour- 
age, until  the  people  in  the  shop  began  to  eye  me  sus- 
piciously. The  longer  I  waited,  the  worse  I  got.  At 
last  I  would  make  a  dash  for  it. 

At  the  top  of  the  second  stair,  was  a  long,  dark  lobby. 
Along  one  side  of  it  ran  a  row  of  swing  doors.  I  would 

79 


80  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

be  sure  to  bump  against  someone  standing  in  the  dark 
awaiting  their  turn.  Then  I  would  get  the  benefit  of  a 
few  oaths.  There  were  always  women  there,  and 
rough,  tramp-looking  men.  I  was  afraid  to  look  at 
them,  and  would  wait  patiently  until  they  got  in  be- 
fore me.  Then,  when  I  was  sure  that  one  of  the  com- 
partments was  empty,  I  would  open  the  door  timidly, 
and  go  in. 

It  was  a  very  small  place ;  there  was  scarcely  room  to 
turn.  A  high  rail  in  front  of  me,  gave  the  feeling  of  be- 
ing in  jail.  I  would  lay  the  chain  on  the  counter. 

"I  want  eight  shillings,"  I  would  say  meekly. 

The  man  would  lift  the  chain,  and  examine  it  all 
over. 

"Give  you  six,"  he  would  reply,  looking  at  me 
sharply. 

"I'll  take  it,"  I  would  answer,  feeling  very  uncom- 
fortable. 

I  was  never  sure  but  what  he  might  send  for  the  po- 
lice, and  accuse  me  of  trying  to  impose  a  worthless  ar- 
ticle on  him.  He  would  slam  down  the  money  on  the 
counter,  along  with  a  ticket.  The  ticket  was  to  let  us 
know  that  if  the  article  was  not  redeemed  within 
a  certain  time,  it  would  be  sold.  I  would  come  down 
the  stair  again,  breathing  freely,  now  that  the  ordeal 
was  over. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  the  year.  I  had  not  been  to 
the  "pawn"  for  some  time,  but,  as  my  grandfather  was 
going  to  be  idle  for  a  week,  we  would  be  short  of  money, 
so  he  sent  me  to  pledge  a  ring  of  my  grandmother's. 

When  I  went  to  the  counter,  it  was  a  pale-faced 
young  man  whom  I  had  often  seen  writing  at  a  desk, 


THE  PANTOMIME  81 

that  came  to  attend  me.  I  felt  my  face  flush.  I  had 
always  tried  to  appear  unconscious  of  his  presence 
before.  « 

"The  boss  is  out,"  he  said,  apologetically.  "You 
might  just  wait  for  five  minutes." 

"Very  well,"  I  answered  humbly,  trying  to  hide  my 
face. 

"Are  you  on  holiday?"  he  asked,  a  little  shyly. 

"Holiday!"  I  stammered,  feeling  very  self-conscious. 
"I'm  not  working  at  all." 

He  hesitated.  "How  would  you  like  to  go  to  the 
pantomime?"  he  asked. 

I  was  flabbergasted.  The  thought  of  a  young  man 
wanting  me  to  go  anywhere  with  him,  made  my  heart 
beat  rapidly.  Certainly,  he  was  only  about  eighteen, 
and  I  was  a  great  deal  less,  but  that  did  not  mat- 
ter. 

"I'm  going  with  my  grandfather,"  I  answered. 

"Oh !"  he  said,  looking  somewhat  crestfallen. 

Just  then,  the  man  came  in,  and  the  conversation  was 
abruptly  ended. 

I  felt  as  proud  as  Punch,  coming  out  of  the  close. 

When  I  got  home,  I  told  Meg  the  startling  thing 
that  had  happened  to  me.  She  laughed,  and  said  I  had 
better  not  let  my  grandfather  hear  about  it,  as  it  might 
put  me  in  danger  of  losing  some  of  my  hair,  which  I 
could  ill  spare.  I  vowed  in  my  heart  that  I  would  never 
tell  her  anything  that  happened  to  me  again. 

Meg,  my  grandfather,  and  I  went  to  the  midnight 
service  in  the  church,  it  being  the  last  night  of  the  year. 
When  we  came  back,  we  found  a  bottle  of  whisky  and 
a  glass  on  the  door  mat.  My  grandmother  put  it  there, 


82  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

because  she  liked  my  grandfather  to  first  foot  us.  She 
thought  he  was  lucky. 

On  New  Year's  day,  we  had  a  very  early  tea,  as  we 
were  all  going  to  the  pantomime.  As  our  seat  was  to 
be  up  among  the  gods,  we  had  to  be  at  the  door  at  least 
an  hour  before  it  opened,  if  we  wanted  to  get  to  the 
front  where  we  could  see. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  Theatre,  there  were  about  a 
dozen  people  standing  at  the  gallery  door.  It  was  a 
very  wet  night  and  we  had  been  hoping  to  get  into  the 
shelter  of  the  doorway. 

"Now,"  said  my  grandfather  to  us,  "I'll  go  first,  an' 
you's  shove  in  behin'  me  as  well's  ye  can." 

He  tried  cautiously  to  elbow  his  way  to  the  door.  As 
everyone  was  after  the  same  purpose,  he  did  not  suc- 
ceed very  well. 

"Who' re  ye  pushin'?"  said  a  stout  woman  with  a 
shawl  on  her  head,  to  my  grandmother  angrily.  "Ye're 
jist  this  minit  here,  an'  ye  expec'  to  get  to  the  front. 
Take  yer  time  like  ither  folk." 

"If  there's  a  wheen  o'  your  size,  there's  no  mony'll 
get  near  the  door,"  retorted  my  grandmother. 

"If  ye  say  anither  word,  I'll  knock  some  o'  they 
bugles  off  yer  bonnet,"  cried  the  woman,  eyeing  her 
wildly. 

Fortunately,  further  words  were  prevented  by  a  po- 
liceman pushing  his  way  into  the  crowd  and  shouting: 

"Get  into  line  there,  get  into  line  there,"  and  using 
his  cane  freely  to  emphasize  his  order. 

We  had  to  stand  along  the  edge  of  the  pavement  for 
a  whole  hour  in  the  drenching  rain.  Meg  had  an  um- 
brella, which  she  held  over  my  grandmother's  head.  I 


THE  PANTOMIME  83 

noticed  that  the  water  ran  off  it  in  a  stream  down  the 
neck  of  a  man  who  was  standing  in  front  of  them.  He 
was  a  poor,  meek-looking  soul,  and  never  said  a  word. 

When  we  had  been  standing  about  three-quarters  of 
an  hour,  the  lights  were  turned  on.  That  gave  us  hope, 
that  perhaps  they  might  take  pity  on  us,  and  let  us  in 
out  of  the  rain.  Those  fortunate  ones  near  the  door, 
had  the  pleasure  of  looking  through  the  keyhole,  and 
seeing  what  was  going  on  within.  Twice,  there  was  a 
jingling  of  keys,  and  our  hearts  beat  hopefully.  But 
no,  it  was  a  false  hope.  Then  suddenly,  the  lights  were 
turned  high,  and  we  heard  the  key  being  inserted  in  the 
lock. 

Meg  put  down  her  umbrella.  The  line  closed  up. 
Everybody  kept  pushing  those  in  front  of  them.  My 
grandfather  stuck  out  his  elbows  to  try  and  make  room 
for  us.  When  the  door  opened,  those  nearest  it  nar- 
rowly escaped  falling  in. 

"Keep  to  the  middle,"  my  grandfather  shouted  ex- 
citedly to  us.  "If  ye  get  shoved  to  the  side,  ye'll  maybe 
get  jammed  again  the  wall." 

There  was  a  tremendous  push  from  those  behind, 
and,  before  we  had  realized  that  we  had  left  the  pave- 
ment, we  were  standing  within  the  door.  My  grand- 
father looked  round,  breathing  hard. 

"That  was  a  twister,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"I'm  damned  but  I  thought  my  shoother  blade  was  out 
o'  joint.  Rin  you's  on,  an'  I'll  get  the  tickets." 

I  had  had  my  knuckles  skinned  against  the  wall,  and 
Ann  had  lost  a  button  off  her  coat.  We  considered  that 
we  had  got  off  very  easy. 

We  hurried  up  the  stair,  to  try  to  find  a  good  seat. 


84  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

We  managed  to  get  on  the  third  step  from  the  front. 
There  are  no  seats  in  the  gallery. 

My  grandfather  could  not  see  us  when  he  came  in, 
but  Meg  stood  up  and  waved  her  umbrella.  He  came 
over,  and  we  managed  to  get  him  squeezed  in  beside 
us.  Meg  bought  some  oranges,  and  that  kept  us  from 
wearying  until  the  Orchestra  came  out.  Then  I  forgot 
all  else.  I  had  a  passionate  love  of  music.  It  always 
lifted  me  into  another  world — a  glorious  world  of  en- 
chantment. What  did  I  care  about  the  tale  that  the 
woman  next  me  was  pouring  into  my  ear,  of  how  she 
had  got  the  black  eye  that  ornamented  her  face. 

Then  my  grandfather  began  to  get  cross  at  a  drunk 
man  that  was  sitting  behind  him.  The  man  had  his 
feet  on  the  tail  of  my  grandfather's  coat. 

"Can  ye  no  keep  ycr  feet  back  a  bit,"  said  my  grand- 
father angrily. 

"Where  would  ye  like  me  to  pit  them?  Roon'  my 
neck?"  sneered  the  man. 

"Put  them  where  the  divil  ye  like.  Ye'll  keep  them 
out  of  the  sma'  o'  my  back  anyway,"  snapped  my 
grandfather. 

The  curtain  went  up,  and  there  was  quietness  for  a 
little.  Then  someone  struck  the  bald  spot  on  my  grand- 
father's head  with  a  rotten  orange.  He  made  a  whack 
with  his  stick  at  a  boy  behind,  thinking  he  was  the  cul- 
prit. The  boy  ducked  his  head  quickly,  and  a  big  navvy 
got  the  blow  instead.  He  made  such  a  row,  that  my 
grandfather  had  to  give  him  a  shilling  to  reconcile  him. 

After  that,  we  got  peace  for  a  while.  We  forgot  all 
our  annoyances  in  the  play. 

When  it  was  over,  and  we  rose  to  go,  it  was  a  bit 


THE  PANTOMIME  85 

disconcerting  to  find  that  the  drunk  man  behind  had 
used  my  grandfather's  hat  for  a  spittoon.  But  one 
could  not  expect  to  get  three  hours  of  unalloyed  joy  for 
sixpence. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MY  MOTHER  AGAIN 

A  prison?    Heavens — I  loath  the  hated  name! 
Fortune's  metropolis — the  sink  of  shame — 

TOM  BROWN. 

THE  days  were  beginning  to  lengthen.  The  thought 
of  the  coming  spring  made  me  feel  restless  and  discon- 
tented. I  hated  the  dreary  monotony  of  the  days.  My 
life  was  very  cramped.  I  wondered  hopelessly  if  it 
was  always  to  be  the  same.  How  I  longed  to  see  some- 
thing of  the  world. 

There  was  one  consolation  however.  On  the  clear 
evenings,  I  could  sit  at  the  big  room  window,  and  knit 
or  sew,  and  watch  the  boats  passing  up  and  down. 
I  liked  to  sit  alone  and  dream.  How  I  would  have 
loved  to  wander  in  the  dark  woods  among  the  hills  on 
the  opposite  shore.  All  these  things  were  full  of  ro- 
mance to  me.  I  have  always  had  a  great  love  of  trees, 
although  I  never  could  tell  the  name  of  any  of  them. 
They  seemed  to  me  to  be  living  things.  What  grandeur 
there  is  in  an  old  tree,  with  its  huge,  spreading  branches. 
I  liked  to  hear  the  leaves  rustling  in  a  gentle  wind.  It 
sounded  to  me  like  mysterious  little  whisperings  of 
strange  things  they  had  seen.  How  glorious  it  was  to 
watch  the  sun  setting  over  the  hills,  making  a  pathway 
like  molten  gold  across  the  water. 

Neither  Meg  nor  I  were  working.     We  never  had 

been  taught  anything.    We  were  expected  to  go  to  do- 
se 


MY  MOTHER  AGAIN  87 

mestic  service.  My  grandparents  had  been  farm  ser- 
vants, and  it  never  seemed  to  enter  their  heads  that  they 
might  teach  us  a  trade,  and  benefit  themselves  later  on. 
All  they  thought  of  was  the  present.  They  had  had  a 
hard  time  in  their  young  days,  and  they  evidently  could 
see  no  reason  why  they  should  try  to  make  it  otherwise 
for  us.  What  was  good  enough  for  them,  was  good 
enough  for  us.  Domestic  service,  where  we  would  get 
our  food,  a  fire  to  sit  at  when  we  had  finished  our  work, 
and  a  comfortable  bed  to  sleep  in,  was  all  that  they 
considered  we  cowld  want  in  life. 

There  was  an  old  woman  that  my  grandmother  had 
known  for  years,  staying  not  far  from  us.  We  washed 
a  few  things  for  her  every  week.  I  used  to  go  for  them 
on  a  Monday  morning.  I  took  the  things  back  to  her 
next  day,  then  she  paid  me.  It  did  not  come  to  very 
much.  Between  eightpence  and  a  shilling  generally.  My 
grandfather  did  not  know  about  it,  so  Meg,  Ann,  my 
grandmother,  and  I  divided  the  money  amongst  us. 
Then  we  always  bought  cakes,  or  something  to  take 
with  a  cup  of  tea. 

One  day,  the  old  woman  asked  me  if  I  would  come 
and  tidy  her  house  in  the  morning,  give  her  her  break- 
fast and  dinner,  and  then  go  home.  As  there  would 
be  very  little  to  do,  she  would  only  give  one  and  eight- 
pence  a  week.  I  was  very  pleased  at  the  thought  of 
beginning  work,  and  asked  my  grandmother  if  she 
would  let  me  go.  My  grandfather  had  to  be  asked.  He 
knew  the  old  woman  well  enough,  though  he  did  not 
know  about  the  washing,  so  he  consented  to  let  me  try. 
One  and  eightpence  was  not  much,  but  I  was  doing 
nothing  anyway. 


88  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  started  the  next  morning.  She  was  a  queer  old 
woman.  She  lay  in  bed  nearly  all  the  time.  When  she 
did  get  up,  she  never  dressed  herself,  but  went  through 
the  kitchen  with  her  nightgown  and  a  red  flannel 
jacket  over  it.  When  I  knocked  at  the  door  in  the 
morning  to  get  in,  I  felt  very  frightened.  I  would  hear 
her  going  through  the  house  in  her  stockinged  feet, 
muttering  away  to  herself.  Then  there  were  such  a  lot 
of  bolts  and  chains  to  be  unfastened  before  the  door 
could  be  opened.  There  was  an  outside  stair,  then  a 
long,  dark  lobby.  She  would  open  the  door  about  an 
inch,  and  peer  out  at  me,  to  make  sure  who  it  was. 
When  I  got  in,  she  went  back  to.  bed  again.  There  she 
would  sit,  with  her  back  against  the  wall,  talking  away 
to  herself.  I  tidied  up  the  house,  got  her  breakfast 
ready,  and  gave  it  to  her.  After  I  had  washed  the 
dishes,  I  sat  back,  where  she  could  not  see  me,  and  I  lis- 
tened to  hear  if  I  could  make  anything  out  of  her  talk. 
I  never  could,  it  was  such  a  jumble  of  words,  and  she 
spoke  so  rapidly.  Even  when  she  was  not  speaking,  her 
jaws  kept  going  all  the  time.  She  had  a  very  long  nose, 
which  almost  met  her  chin.  Her  fingers  resembled  tal- 
ons, and  were  never  at  rest.  , 

My  grandmother  told  me  that  she  had  her  shroud 
all  ready,  in  case  she  died  suddenly.  It  made  me  fear- 
fully nervous.  A  shroud!  What  an  awful  thing  to 
have  in  the  house.  I  used  to  look  at  the  chest  of  draw- 
ers, that  stood  back  from  her  bed  a  bit,  wonder  which 
one  it  was  in,  and  shiver.  Then  the  desire  came  to  me 
to  see  it.  I  opened  the  drawers,  and  glanced  over  all 
the  things.  In  the  third  one  I  found  it.  I  touched  it 
fearfully  with  the  tips  of  my  fingers,  then  closed  the 


MY  MOTHER  AGAIN  89 

drawer  quickly.  A  terrible  fear  came  over  me.  I  sat 
as  far  back  from  the  drawers  as  I  could  get.  After 
that,  something  seemed  to  draw  me  to  it.  Every  day 
nearly  I  opened  the  drawer  to  looked  at  it,  but  I  never 
could  pick  up  courage  to  touch  it  again. 

Upstairs  in  the  attic,  lived  another  old  lady,  who 
used  to  come  in  and  see  her  sometimes.  As  a  rule,  she 
just  looked  at  her  in  the  bed,  then  sat  and  talked  to 
me.  She  was  a  strange  kind  of  woman,  too.  Her  head 
kept  twitching  all  the  time,  the  result  of  a  nervous  shock, 
caused  by  falling  into  the  water  when  she  was  young. 

One  day,  the  old  woman  that  I  was  working  for 
took  ill.  I  went  for  the  doctor.  He  said  she  would 
need  someone  beside  her  all  night. 

When  I  told  them  at  home,  my  grandfather  said  that 
Meg  and  I  could  sit  with  her.  Meg  came  over  when 
it  was  dark,  and  we  made  up  a  bed  in  the  room.  We 
had  not  lain  down  very  long  when  we  heard  the  old 
woman  rising.  We  both  jumped  up,  and  sat  listening. 
She  was  talking  loudly.  All  at  once,  she  began  to  run 
round  the  kitchen  like  mad. 

That  settled  it.  Meg  and  I  jumped  out  of  the  bed, 
reached  the  door  in  a  bound,  and  flew  up  the  attic  stair 
as  if  demented.  We  banged  and  thumped  at  the  old 
woman's  door.  We  heard  her  talking  angrily  to  herself 
inside.  There  was  no  other  tenant  in  the  building. 
When  at  last  she  opened  the  door,  we  flew  in.  She  was 
a  weird  looking  figure  in  her  night  clothes,  almost  as 
bad  as  the  one  we  had  left  below.  The  three  of  us  sat  on 
the  edge  of  her  bed,  while  we  panted  out  our  story.  She 
wanted  us  to  lie  down  beside  her,  but  we  would  not. 
In  a  short  time,  she  got  us  advised  to  go  down  again. 


90  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Cautiously,  we  descended  the  wooden  stair,  keeping  a 
tight  hold  of  each  other.  We  groped  along  the  dark 
lobby,  expecting  every  minute  to  feel  a  skinny  hand 
making  a  clutch  at  us.  Opening  the  door  noiselessly,  we 
peeped  in.  She  was  back  in  bed,  evidently  asleep.  We 
passed  the  remainder  of  the  night  sitting  in  the  room 
shivering.  In  the  morning,  word  was  sent  to  some 
relations  she  had  in  Glasgow.  I  waited  until  they  ar- 
rived, then  I  went  home.  They  came  over  to  the  house, 
and  pleaded  with  me  to  go  back,  but  I  would  not.  Wild 
horses  would  not  have  made  me  go. 

Next  afternoon  when  we  were  sitting  at  the  fire,  a 
knock  came  to  the  door.  Meg  opened  it.  It  was  a 
Mrs.  Graham,  a  distant  relation  of  my  grandfather's. 
She  stayed  in  the  neighboring  town,  and  sometimes  came 
to  see  us.  She  came  in  and  sat  down.  I  noticed  that 
there  was  an  unusually  serious  look  on  her  face.  After 
a  short  time  she  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket,  produced 
a  paper,  and,  without  a  word  handed  it  to  Meg,  indicat- 
ing a  certain  paragraph  with  her  finger.  Meg  looked 
at  her  wonderingly,  glanced  at  the  paragraph,  then  her 
face  changed. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  my  grandmother  impatiently. 

"She'll  tell  you,"  answered  Mrs.  Graham,  nodding 
her  head  towards  Meg. 

"I  will  not,"  said  Meg,  taking  a  long  breath.  "Tell 
her  yourself." 

"What  foolery  are  ye  at?"  cried  my  grandmother. 
"Tell  folk  what  it  is,  an'  be  done  with  it." 

"I'll  tell  you  then,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  breathing 
hard.  "Nora's  got  the  jail  for  bein'  drunk  and  dis- 
orderly." 


MY  MOTHER  AGAIN  91 

My  grandmother's  mouth  opened,  but  no  words 
came.  She  sank  down  on  a  chair,  staring  pitifully  at 
Mrs.  Graham. 

"It's  surely  a  mistake,"  she  said  at  last  brokenly. 
"The  Lord  would  niver  put  such  an  affront  on  us." 

"I  wish  I  could  think  that,"  answered  Mrs.  Graham, 
sadly,  "but  it's  too  true." 

"But  we  thought  she  went  back  to  London,"  said  my 
grandmother,  her  lips  trembling.  "She  surely  couldna 
be  in  the  next  town  without  us  knowin'  it." 

"That's  just  where  she  has  been  though,"  replied 
Mrs.  Graham. 

My  grandmother  sat  silent,  her  face  white  and  drawn. 
Meg's  mouth  was  shut  tight,  a  habit  she  had  when 
greatly  angered. 

Ann  sat  and  stared  at  my  grandmother,  a  look  of 
great  pity  in  her  eyes. 

Words  could  do  nothing  to  alleviate  the  sorrow  and 
shame. 

Mrs.  Graham  did  not  wait  long.  It  was  near  the 
time  when  the  others  would  be  coming  from  their  work. 
Meg  and  my  grandmother  seemed  too  dazed  to  think 
of  anything,  so  I  hurried  and  got  the  tea  ready. 

My  heart  beat  rapidly  when  I  heard  my  grand- 
father's step  at  the  door.  Poor  old  man.  What  a 
humiliation  it  would  be  for  him. 

My  grandmother  looked  up  as  he  entered  the  kitchen. 
He  noticed  at  once  that  something  was  wrong. 

"What's  up?"  he  asked,  looking  round  apprehen- 
sively. 

"It's  Nora,"  answered  my  grandmother,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice.  "She's  got  sent  to  jail." 


92  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

My  grandfather  looked  at  her,  unbelief  in  his  eyes. 

"It's  some  mistake.  Somebody  else  o'  the  same 
name,"  he  said  sharply. 

"It's  no  mistake,"  answered  my  grandmother  sadly. 
"Her  own  name's  there  in  full,  an'  the  name  o'  the  man 
she  ran  away  with." 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  my  grandfather  brokenly, 
"has  she  sunk  to  that?" 

He  dropped  down  on  a  chair,  his  face  working  piti- 
fully. Resting  his  elbow  on  the  table,  he  leant  his  head 
on  his  hand.  I  saw  the  tears  roll  slowly  down  his 
cheeks.  Tears  of  shame  and  agony.  A  feeling  of  hatred 
came  into  my  heart  for  the  one  who  had  brought  this 
sorrow  on  his  grey  head. 

The  only  sound  that  broke  the  silence  was  the  ticking 
of  the  clock.  My  grandmother  sat  staring  into  the  fire 
with  unseeing  eyes.  It  may  have  been  that  her  thoughts 
had  gone  back  to  the  little  innocent  child  she  had  nursed 
on  her  knee. 

My  grandfather  lifted  his  head  and  looked  round  us. 

"If  it's  God's  will  to  put  this  shame  on  us,"  he  said 
solemnly,  "He'll  give  us  strength  to  bear  it." 

Just  then  Jack  and  Barney  came  in.  Meg  silently 
handed  Jack  the  paper.  He  read  it  with  kindling  eyes. 

"The  shameless  wretch!"  he  cried  passionately.  "She 
might  have  saved  us  this  disgrace  by  putting  another 
name  down." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Barney,  wonderingly. 

"Nora's  got  sent  to  jail,"  answered  Meg. 

"To  jail!"  exclaimed  Barney  incredulously.  "Niver!" 

"See  for  yourself  then,"  returned  Meg,  handing  him 
the  paper. 


MY  MOTHER  AGAIN  93 

He  was  not  a  good  reader,  but  he  took  the  paper, 
and  read  slowly  the  paragraph  indicated. 

"It's  true  enough  then,"  he  admitted.  "As  Jack  says, 
she  might  have  put  some  other  name.  She's  evidently 
no'  carin'  though.  Poor  misguided  crater!"  He  sat 
down  to  his  tea  with  a  sigh. 

My  grandfather  drank  a  cup  of  tea,  but  ate  nothing. 
There  was  hardly  a  word  spoken  all  the  evening.  Each 
one  was  busy  with  their  own  thoughts.  Barney  said  he 
was  feeling  extra  tired,  and  went  off  to  bed  early.  My 
grandfather,  complaining  of  a  headache,  went  soon 
after.  A  shadow  seemed  to  have  fallen  over  us  all. 

In  a  short  time,  we  were  all  in  bed.  I  must  have  been 
sleeping  for  a  good  while,  when  I  was  suddenly  awak- 
ened by  the  feeling  that  I  had  heard  a  sound.  I  sat  up 
and  listened.  I  did  not  hear  anything,  but  I  got  up  and 
tiptoed  into  the  kitchen.  I  stood  back  in  the  shadow, 
and  peered  over  at  the  bed.  My  grandfather  was  lying 
with  his  hands  clasped  in  front  of  him.  His  lips  were 
moving  in  prayer.  I  listened  but  could  only  catch  a  few 
words.  Something  seemed  to  come  into  my  throat.  I 
slipped  silently  back  to  bed. 

For  a  long  time  after,  my  grandfather  was  very  much 
depressed.  My  grandmother  was  greatly  vexed  about 
it  too,  but  she  was  of  a  much  cheerier  nature  than  he. 

The  days  passed  on.  Summer  came  and  went.  The 
evenings  began  to  draw  in  again,  and  there  was  a  sharp- 
ness in  the  air  in  the  mornings. 

I  like  the  autumn,  though  there  is  a  sadness  too  in 
the  falling  leaves.  There  is  always  the  feeling  that 
something  has  passed  out  of  one's  life,  never  to  return. 

One  day  I  was  sitting,  idly  dreaming.     I  had  been 


94,  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

knitting,  but  had  stopped  to  rest  my  eyes  a  little.  I 
heard  a  footstep  in  the  passage,  then  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"See  who  that  is,"  said  my  grandmother  to  me. 

I  went  to  the  door.  My  heart  nearly  stopped  beating 
when  I  discovered  who  it  was.  My  mother  stood  before 
me. 

"Hullo!"  she  said,  and  walked  past  me  into  the 
kitchen. 

"Well,  how  are  you  all?"  she  asked  lightly,  glancing 
round. 

"Oh,  it's  you,"  said  my  grandmother,  in  a  faint  kind 
of  voice. 

"Did  you  think  I  was  a  ghost?"  she  said,  with  a 
laugh. 

What  a  difference  there  was  in  her.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  her  face  had  changed  altogether.  Her  hair  was  cut 
in  the  front,  and  frizzed.  She  wore  a  motor  cap,  and  a 
dark  costume,  very  much  the  worse  for  wear.  There 
was  a  slit  in  the  jacket,  near  the  shoulder.  She  herself 
drew  our  attention  to  it. 

"You  see  my  jacket  how  it  is  spoiled,"  she  explained. 
"It  was  one  night  I  was  in  a  house  where  there  was  a 
row.  A  man  drew  his  knife  on  me.  I  thought  I  was 
done  for,  but  they  managed  to  get  him  away  just  in  time. 
It  has  ruined  my  jacket  though." 

She  looked  down  at  her  jacket,  a  half  smile  hovering 
round  her  lips  as  if  at  some  happy  recollection.  Then 
she  began  to  tell  about  a  lot  of  her  escapades,  and 
seemjed  to  have  pleasure  in  the  telling. 

My  grandmother  listened  to  her  in  awed  silence.  Meg 
and  Ann  scarcely  spoke.  I  think  they  were  afraid  of 
her.  I  shrank  back,  as  far  out  of  sight  as  I  conH  fret. 


MY  MOTHER  AGAIN  95 

Meg  rose  to  put  the  kettle  on  for  the  tea.  My  mother 
got  up,  removed  her  hat  and  coat,  and  laid  them  on  the 
bed,  as  if  she  meant  to  stay. 

Soon  after,  my  grandfather  came  in.  He  stood  look- 
ing at  her,  as  if  unable  to  believe  his  eyes. 

I  thought  at  first,  from  the  expression  on  his  face,  that 
he  was  going  to  order  her  out.  All  at  once,  the  hard 
look  passed  away,  and  he  said  quietly : 

"Ye've  come  back." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  airily,  "like  the  lost  sheep." 

He  sat  down  on  a  chair,  and  looked  at  her. 

"Ye've  put  a  terrible  shame  on  us,"  he  said  sternly. 

"Oh !  that,"  she  returned  boldly.  "I  only  had  a  drop 
too  much.  It  might  have  been  worse.  I  never  was  in 
for  stealing  anyway." 

There  was  very  little  more  said.  She  stayed,  and 
slept  with  Meg,  Ann,  and  me.  I  think  they  all  thought 
that  she  had  cast  off  the  old  life.  I  seldom  heard  any- 
one reproach  her. 

She  must  have  had  some  money.  One  day  we  noticed 
that  she  was  the  worse  of  drink.  She  had  told  my 
grandmother  that  she  was  going  out  for  a  drink.  My 
grandmother,  thinking  to  keep  her  in  the  house,  had 
brought  some  in  to  her. 

We  did  not  know  what  to  do.  My  grandfather  would 
soon  be  in  from'  his  work,  and  would  notice  it.  We  man- 
aged to  get  her  into  the  room  before  he  came,  and  pre- 
tended that  she  had  a  bad  headache.  The  night  wore 
on,  and  bedtime  came.  When  we  went  to  bed,  she  was 
much  worse.  She  must  have  finished  what  she  had  in 
the  bottle.  She  undressed  herself  and  lay  down. 

Meg  and  Ann  had  been  sleeping  some  time,  and  I  was 


96  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

just  falling  over,  when  I  heard  my  mother  moving,  as 
if  to  rise.  In  a  minute,  I  was  wide  awake.  She  slipped 
quietly  out,  and  disappeared  in  the  lobby.  I  stealthily 
followed.  She  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  my  grandfather  on  the  bed.  The  moonlight 
streamed  in  at  the  window,  casting  my  mother's  shadow 
across  the  floor,  like  a  gigantic,  evil  spirit.  I  think  it 
was  her  intense  gaze  that  awoke  my  grandfather.  He 
stirred  uneasily,  then  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 
The  moonlight  gave  him  an  unearthly  look. 

"In  the  name  o'  God,  woman,  what  are  ye  wantin' 
standin'  there  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  shaking  voice. 

She  gave  an  awful  laugh,  that  made  me  shiver. 

"Hamlet!"  she  cried.  "Hamlet!  thou  art  my  father's 
ghost." 

Then  she  turned  into  the  lobby.  I  ran  back  to  bed, 
and  huddled  under  the  clothes.  Very  soon  she  was  in 
too.  I  don't  think  she  stirred  again  until  morning. 

My  grandfather  had  bought  her  a  nice  pair  of  shoes. 
She  had  small  feet,  and  was  very  proud  of  them.  A 
night  or  two  after,  we  heard  her  coming  along  the  lobby 
with  the  new  shoes  on.  We  knew,  because  we  heard 
them  squeaking.  She  looked  in  at  the  kitchen  door,  then 
we  saw  that  she  had  her  hat  and  jacket  on  too. 

"Good  night,  all,"  she  said,  and  passed  out  into  the 
darkness. 

That  was  the  last  we  saw  of  her  for  a  long  time. 


CHAPTER  XII 

AT  WORK  IN  GLASGOW 

Want  is  a  bitter  and  a  hateful  good 
Because  its  virtues  are  not  understood, 
Yet  many  things,  impossible  to  thought, 
Have  been  by  need,  to  full  perfection  brought. 

DRYDEN. 

WINTER  closed  in  on  us  quickly.  The  nipping  winds 
whistled  in  at  the  crevices  of  the  crazy  old  window 
frames,  and  underneath  the  doors,  making  us  glad  to 
crouch  over  the  fire. 

Meg  and  I  thought  we  would  try  and  get  work  some- 
where. There  was  nothing  in  our  place  but  domestic 
service  and  Meg  had  a  great  dislike  to  that.  She  had  a 
fancy  for  a  shop. 

Though  we  were  expected  to  go  to  service,  my  grand- 
mother spoke  of  it  in  such  a  way  that  made  it  seem  very 
undesirable  to  us. 

"Ay,"  she  would  say,  "wait  'till  ye  go  to  service  with 
the  strangers.  I'll  houl'  ye  ye'll  wonder  what's  wrong 
with  ye.  They  think  more  o'  their  dog,  than  they  do  o' 
their  servants." 

"Ay,"  Barney  would  chime  in.  "I  see  them  in  the 
mornin',  when  I'm'  goin'  to  my  work,  a  washin'  cloot  in 
one  han',  an  a  lump  o'  loaf  in  the  other.  Some  o'  they 
half  bil't  swells  can  hardly  get  their  breakfast,  but  they 
must  have  a  servant." 

Jack  did  not  say  much  on  the  subject.    I  daresay  he 


98  THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

did  not  want  us  to  go  away.     He  would  be  lonely. 

Sometimes  we  got  him  to  buy  a  paper,  and  we  looked 
up  the  advertisements.  If  we  saw  anything  that  we 
thought  suitable,  off  we  would  go  to  the  town,  hope  in 
our  heart.  Many  a  weary  walk  we  had  for  nothing. 
We  had  to  walk,  as  we  could  not  afford  the  car.  It  was 
always  the  same  story.  Either  we  were  too  far  away, 
or  else  they  wanted  someone  with  experience.  We  began 
to  get  hopeless. 

One  morning,  my  grandfather  came  in  with  the 
startling  news  that  my  brother  and  his  family  had 
cleared  out  of  the  place  altogether.  It  seemed  that  their 
furniture  had  been  sent  away  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning,  and  they  themselves  followed  in  the  first  train. 

It  was  a  tremendous  surprise  to  us.  It  appeared, 
from  the  neighbours'  accounts  that  they  had  left  a  lot  of 
small  debts  behind  them.  But  then,  what  will  neigh- 
bours not  say?  Anyhow,  we  did  not  know  anything 
about  it.  It  annoyed  my  grandfather  very  much. 

One  day,  shortly  after,  we  were  surprised  to  get  a 
very  friendly  letter  from  them.  My  grandfather,  who 
never  could  keep  an  ill  feeling,  got  Meg  to  answer  it  at 
once.  A  correspondence  began.  Both  sides  had  evident- 
ly agreed  to  bury  the  hatchet. 

An  idea  began  to  form  in  my  mind  that  I  might  go 
to  Glasgow  and  get  work.  I  had  a  confab  with  Meg 
about  it.  She  thought  it  a  fine  idea.  We  made  it  up 
that  I  would  go  first  and  get  work,  then  she  would 
follow.  We  did  not  know  how  to  broach  the  subject. 
Well  we  knew  that  my  grandparents  did  not  want  us  to 
go  to  Glasgow.  What  they  wanted  was  that  we  should 
work  at  home,  at  anything. 


AT  WORK  IN  GLASGOW  99 

We  would  then  be  under  their  eye,  and  get  no  free- 
dom at  all. 

Meg  wrote  a  letter  privately  to  my  brother,  asking 
him  to  send  word  for  us  to  come  to  Glasgow,  as  there 
was  plenty  of  work  to  be  had.  The  letter  came,  and  I, 
with  beating  heart,  expressed  my  intention  of  going.  My 
grandparents  did  not  say  much,  but  I  could  see  they 
were  angry,  my  grandmother  especially.  I  thought  I 
would  go  soon  and  get  it  over. 

The  day  before  leaving,  I  had  everything  ready.  My 
clothes  were  tied  up  in  a  paper  parcel.  That  was  my  all. 
It  was  an  occasion  of  extraordinary  importance  to  me. 
We  were  all  very  quiet  until  the  afternoon.  Ann  seemed 
to  feel  my  going  very  much.  After  dinner,  my  grand- 
mother got  some  gin.  Very  soon  it  went  to  her  head, 
and  she  began  to  get  quarrelsome.  Meg  was  sitting 
knitting  at  one  end  of  the  table,  and  I  was  sitting  at  the 
other,  sewing  something  I  wanted  to  take  with  me.  My 
grandmother  sat  on  a  stool  at  the  fire. 

"You,"  she  sneered  at  me.  "You  would  want  to  go 
to  Glesca',  ye  insignificent  lookin'  bein'  that  ye  are. 
Ye're  too  much  tied  in  here.  Ye  canna  get  yer  fling. 
Aha !  but  ye'll  be  glad  to  crawl  back.  That's  the  thanks 

I  get.  Me  that  has  done  so  much  for  ye.  Ye  B d 

that  ye  are,  where  would  ye  have  been  if  it  hadna  been 
for  me?  In  the  poorhouse.  Damn  ye,  ye  should  lick 
the  very  grun'  I  walk  on." 

The  hot  tears  stung  my  eyes.  With  a  tremendous 
effort  I  kept  them  back.  It  hurt  me  very  much  to  be 
reproached  for  what  I  could  not  help.  How  was  I  to 
blame  for  my  entry  into  the  world?  So  far,  I  had  not 
found  life  such  a  pleasant  thing.  Often  I  have  felt  very 


100         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

ungrateful  for  the  gift  of  life.  No  doubt  I,  and  such  as 
I,  ought  to  be  thankful  to  be  allowed  to  live  and  breathe 
at  all. 

Meg  said  nothing,  but  I  knew  what  she  thought  from 
her  tight  shut  lips.  Poor  Ann  tried  to  say  a  word  in  my 
favour.  The  only  good  it  did  was  to  turn  my  grand- 
mother's anger  against  herself. 

The  day  wore  on.  Supper  passed  quietly.  My  grand- 
father  was  very  dull.  I  think  he  was  vexed  at  the 
thought  of  me  going  away. 

Morning  came,  and  I  awoke,  feeling  very  unhappy. 
The  thought  that  I  might  have  to  part  with  my  grand- 
mother on  bad  terms  made  me  miserable.  To  my  joy 
I  found  her  in  a  different  mood  when  I  went  into  the 
kitchen.  She  spoke  kindly,  and  never  said  a  word  of 
reproach.  I  hurried  and  got  ready.  Now  that  the  time 
was  so  near,  I  felt  upset. 

Meg  was  to  accompany  me  to  the  train.  My  cousins 
were  to  meet  me  at  Glasgow  station.  My  grandfather 
and  Jack  came  in,  just  as  I  was  ready  to  go.  With  a  full 
heart,  I  bade  them  all  good-bye.  Ann  could  not  speak. 
She  shook  my  hand  silently. 

"Now  min',"  said  my  grandfather,  looking  at  me 
earnestly,  "min'  an'  come  back  if  ye  don't  like  it. 
There's  a  home  for  ye  here,  whenever  ye  like  to  come. 
Be  sure  o'  that." 

They  all  stood  at  the  door  to  see  me  off.  Meg 
took  my  parcel  and  I  hurried  out,  my  eyes  blinded  by 
tears. 

They  watched  me  until  I  turned  the  bend. 

We  were  just  in  time  for  the  train.  Meg  got  me 
into  a  compartment  where  there  was  an  old  lady,  going 


AT  WORK  IN  GLASGOW  101 

to  Glasgow  also.  She  said  good-bye,  and  stood  waving 
until  the  train  was  out  of  sight. 

I  leant  back  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage  feeling 
miserable.  Now  that  I  was  out  into  the  world,  I  felt 
afraid.  After  a  little  I  got  interested  in  the  country 
round  me,  and  my  spirits  began  to  rise. 

Two  of  my  brother's  girls  were  waiting  for  me  at  the 
Central  station.  I  went  home  with  them  on  the  top  of 
the  car.  What  an  interest  the  streets  had  for  me.  Surely 
this  was  life.  I  felt  happy,  that  at  last  I  was  going  to 
realise  what  it  was  to  live. 

My  sister-in-law  gave  me  a  hearty  welcome.  Whether 
it  was  from/  the  heart,  or  the  lips  only,  I  could  not  tell. 
I  was  perfectly  well  aware  that  she,  and  my  so  called 
brother  had  never  lost  much  love  on  me.  They  had 
always  tried  to  belittle  me,  and  make  my  grandparents 
believe  ill  of  me.  Very  often  they  succeeded  too,  and 
were  the  cause  of  giving  me  many  an  unhappy  hour. 
I  did  not  mind  that  now  though.  All  I  wanted  was  to 
earn  my  own  living,  and  be  independent  of  everyone. 

"Come  upstairs,"  said  my  sister-in-law.  "You  can 
take  off  your  things,  then  we  will  go  down  to  the  dining 
room.  There's  a  good  fire  there." 

Upstairs !  I  was  dumbfounded.  And  a  dining-room 
too!  Had  they  really  ascended  to  such  a  magnificent 
height  of  grandeur?  It  was  true.  What  did  it  matter 
if  the  stair  was  very  short  and  narrow  ?  Nobody  could 
possibly  dispute  that  it  was  anything  else  but  a  stair. 
Though  the  dining-room  was  the  only  room  that  was 
not  used  for  sleeping  in,  and  was  only  a  parlour,  that 
did  not  matter.  Hasn't  one  the  right  to  baptise  their 
rooms  by  any  name  they  choose?  At  first  I  felt  very 


102         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

humiliated,  then  I  began  to  think  that  as  I  would  be 
staying  in  the  house,  perhaps  some  of  their  glory  would 
reflect  on  me. 

Next  morning,  I  started  on  my  search  for  work.  Nell, 
one  of  the  girls,  went  with  me.  My  sister-in-law  said 
I  was  to  go  to  the  big  warehouses,  and  ask  if  they  needed 
anyone. 

How  I  hated  going  into  the  large  buildings,  I  was  so 
fearfully  backward.  I  was  all  shaking,  and  felt  so 
nervous,  that  I  could  scarcely  make  myself  intelligible. 
I  had  to  ask  for  the  manager,  then  wait  a  time  until  he 
cam,e,  while  all  the  workers  stared  at  me.  I  went  into 
half  a  dozen  warehouses.  In  the  last  one,  I  heard  a  girl 
say  to  her  neighbour,  "Look  at  Sally  from  the  country." 

The  other  girls  began  to  giggle.  I  felt  my  face  burn- 
ing with  shame.  I  did  not  get  any  work  either.  They 
were  all  sorry,  but  they  were  not  in  need  of  anyone. 
They  seemed  to  sum  me  up  in  a  glance  as  being  green. 

I  went  home  with  Nell,  feeling  very  much  dishearf- 
ened.  Next  day  I  started  again.  The  first  place  I  went 
to  was  a  large  building,  with  a  great  many  stairs.  Each 
flat  was  different,  tailoring,  dressmaking,  and  so  on. 

I  stopped  at  the  flat  marked  tailoring,  and  knocked 
timidly  at  the  door.  A  small  boy  opened  it,  and  I  asked 
for  the  manager.  In  about  five  minutes,  he  came  out  to 
me.  He  was  a  nice,  pleasant  man.  I  asked  him  if  he 
could  give  me  any  work.  He  looked  at  me  a  minute, 
then  said  slowly : 

"Well,  I  could  give  you  something,  but  it  is  piece- 
work, and  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  make  much  at  first." 

I  told  him  eagerly  that  I  was  quite  willing  to  try,  and 
asked  how  soon  I  could  begin.  He  told  me  to  come  the 


AT  WORK  IN  GLASGOW  103 

next  morning.  I  went  down  the  stair  on  wings.  We 
hurried  home  to  tell  the  good  news. 

Next  morning,  I  started  off  early.  I  had  to  take  a 
pennyworth  of  the  car,  as  my  work  was  in  the  centre 
of  the  city.  I  arrived  in  lots  of  time.  The  door  leading 
up  to  the  stair  was  shut.  There  were  a  good  many  girls 
waiting.  They  looked  at  me,  but  never  spoke.  They 
were  all  talking  together.  Others  arrived.  They  said 
good-morning  to  the  other  girls,  but  took  no  notice 
whatever  of  me,  other  than  cast  a  contemptuous  glance 
over  my  dress.  How  I  longed  for  the  door  to  open! 
Soon  it  did,  and  we  all  flocked  upstairs.  I  went  into 
the  tailoring  department,  and  stood  waiting,  uncertain 
what  to  do.  The  manager  came  along,  and  took  me 
through  into  another  room,  where  a  great  many  machin- 
ists were  busy  at  work.  Beyond  them,  a  lot  of  girls  were 
sitting  at  tables  basting  jackets  together.  At  the 
extreme  end  of  the  room,  which  was  of  great  length, 
half  a  dozen  girls  were  busy  ironing. 

The  manager  took  me  to  an  elderly  woman,  the  fore- 
woman of  the  'basters,'  and  told  her  to  show  me  how 
to  baste  jackets  together.  She  told  me  to  sit  beside 
her.  I  did  not  like  her  at  all.  She  asked  me  a  hundred 
questions,  and  tried  to  find  out  everything  about  me. 
When  she  found  that  there  was  nothing  further  to  be 
got  out  of  me,  she  said  she  thought  I  would  manage  all 
right,  and  set  me  beside  the  other  'basters/  There  was 
just  one  vacant  place.  The  workers  sat  at  long  tables, 
three  at  each  side.  I  sat  at  the  end  of  a  table,  beside 
a  very  sullen  looking  girl.  Opposite  me,  was  a  woman 
about  sixty.  Directly  behind  me,  with  her  back  almost 
touching  mine,  was  a  stout,  florid  girl,  with  mustard 


104         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

coloured  hair — Edna,  I  heard  the  other  girls  call  her. 
I  mention  these  three,  because  during  all  the  weary  days 
I  was  there,  they  were  the  only  ones  that  ever  spoke  to 
me.  Two  of  them  did  not  speak  out  of  the  spirit  of 
friendliness.  Curiosity  got  the  better  of  them.  As  for 
the  old  woman,  nobody  else  would  talk  to  her.  They 
all  spoke  very  proper,  and  were  exceedingly  well 
dressed.  How  they  managed  to  do  it  on  the  wages  they 
earned,  was  a  puzzle  to  me.  I  was  poorly  clad,  and 
felt  very  much  to  sit  beside  them. 

The  work  was  not  difficult,  but  it  required  a  knack. 
We  had  to  baste  the  linings  on  to  the  cloth  for  the  ma- 
chinists to  stitch.  I  found  the  corners  troublesome. 
Sometimes  I  would  get  half  a  dozen  back  to  do 
over  again.  The  prices  varied,  according  to  the  qual- 
ity of  the  cloth,  from  three  halfpence  upward  a 
jacket. 

My  first  week's  earnings  amounted  to  about  four  shil- 
lings. The  following  week,  I  managed  to  make  six. 
I  was  to  give  my  brother  four  shillings  a  week  for  my 
keep,  until  I  would  see  how  I  would  get  on.  My  car 
cost  me  a  shilling  a  week.  When  I  got  to  know  the 
way,  I  reduced  it  to  sixpence  by  walking  home  at  night. 

I  wrote  home  for  Meg.  She  came,  and  soon  found 
work  in  a  restaurant.  It  was  near  the  theatres,  and  was 
open  until  twelve  at  night.  It  was  too  far  for  her  to 
walk  home  so  late,  sx>  we  thought  we  would  look  for 
lodgings.  We  found  a  room,  almost  opposite  the  shop 
she  worked  in.  We  were  to  pay  three  shillings  a  week 
each  for  it.  That  included  one  fire  at  night.  If  we 
wanted  any  more  when  that  burnt  down,  we  would  have 
to  pay  extra. 


AT  WORK  IN  GLASGOW  105 

We  carried  our  belongings  over,  and  got  settled.  I 
liked  it  much  better  than  staying  with  my  brother. 

When  I  came  home  at  six  from  my  work,  I  stayed  in. 
Generally,  I  waited  up  for  Meg.  When  the  fire  went 
out,  I  put  my  jacket  on,  and  sat  huddled  up  at  the  win- 
dow. It  was  fearfully  cold,  but  we  could  not  afford 
extra  coals.  I  was  afraid  to  burn  the  gas,  in  case  we 
might  be  charged  extra,  so  I  sat  in  the  dark.  The  win- 
dow looked  into  a  busy  street,  and  I  always  found  some- 
thing to  interest  me.  Often  I  fell  asleep  before  Meg 
got  home. 

Sometimes  I  would  give  Meg  a  fright  by  hiding 
under  the  bed.  She  would  look  wildly  round  for  me, 
dreading  that  perhaps  I  was  out  in  the  streets  at  that 
time  of  night.  Then  I  would  slip  my  hand  out,  and 
catch  her  by  the  ankle.  What  a  jump  she  would  give ! 

My  work  began  to  grow  harder.  The  forewoman 
had  favourites,  and  I  was  not  one  of  them.  Sometimes 
I  would  sit  for  an  hour  or  two  waiting  for  work,  and 
then  I  would  get  the  cheap  jackets.  I  could  seldom  ever 
get  beyond  six  shillings  a  week.  Occasionally  it  was 
five.  I  had  to  live  very  poorly. 

I  did  not  care  much  for  tea  in  those  days.  My  land- 
lady made  me  a  small  bowl  of  porridge  in  the  morning, 
and  gave  me  a  halfpenny  worth  of  milk.  I  took  the 
porridge,  with  about  half  of  the  milk.  Then  I  had  a 
piece  of  bread  and  syrup.  That  was  my  breakfast.  I 
spread  two  thin  slices  of  bread  sparingly  with  syrup, 
and  took  that  with  me  for  my  dinner,  as  I  did  not  come 
home  until  night.  For  my  tea,  I  took  the  rest  of  the 
milk  with  some  bread  and  syrup,  or  perhaps  butter  for 
a  change.  I  paid  the  landlady  threepence  a  week  for 


106         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

the  porridge.  I  did  not  take  any  on  Sunday.  I  looked 
forward  all  the  week  to  that  day.  Then  Meg  and  I 
had  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  cheap  ham  between  us  for 
breakfast. 

The  girls  in  the  warehouse  used  often  to  send  out 
for  sweets.  Everyone  gave  so  much,  and  the  message 
girl  was  sent  for  them. 

Edna  always  asked  me  to  give  a  share  too.  I  grudged 
the  money  very  much,  but  had  too  much  pride  to  let 
them  see  that  I  could  not  afford  it.  I  would  rather  have 
bought  a  scone  with  the  money.  Some  of  the  girls  used 
to  bring  something  with  them  to  eat  at  eleven  o'clock. 
Often  I  ate  my  dinner  bread  then,  and  went  without  at 
dinner  time.  Many  a  time  I  have  stood  at  a  baker's 
window  on  the  way  home,  and  wondered  if  I  could  af- 
ford myself  a  doughnut,  or  a  pancake,  as  a  little  lux- 
ury for  my  tea.  I  seldom  did,  though. 

My  food  never  cost  me  more  than  one  and  six,  or  two 
shillings  a  week.  It  was  all  I  could  afford.  And  yet  I 
was  not  unhappy.  If  Meg  had  an  early  night  off,  we 
used  to  go  for  a  walk  together.  Everything  interested 
me — the  shop  windows,  the  well  dressed  people,  and 
the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  traffic.  I  liked  Sauchiehall 
Street  because  there  was  always  someone  singing,  or 
playing  a  violin,  or  something.  I  have  often  heard 
fine  singing  there. 

One  morning  Edna  condescended  to  ask  me  if  I  had 
been  out  the  night  before,  and  where  I  had  been.  I 
told  her  I  had  been  for  a  walk  up  Sauchiehall  Street. 

"Did  you  get  a  Tick  up'?"  she  asked. 

I  looked  at  her  questioningly.  I  did  not  know  then 
what  a  Tick  up'  was. 


AT  WORK  IN  GLASGOW  107 

"What's  that?"  I  inquired. 

"You  surely  don't  think  that  you  can  mfcke  me  be- 
lieve that  you  don't  know  what  a  'Pick  up'  is,"  she  an- 
swered sarcastically.  "You  know  well  enough  that  I 
mean  did  you  pick  up  a  fellow?  Don't  kid  you're  so 
innocent." 

"Oh !  if  that's  what  you  mean,"  I  said,  enlightened, 
"then  I  did  not." 

"You're  a  liar,"  she  returned.  "You  couldn't  be  up 
the  'Sauchie'  without  getting  a  'Pick  up'." 

I  would  have  liked  further  information  on  the  sub- 
ject, but  just  then  the  girl  opposite  her  began  to  tell  her 
some  yarn  about  her  cousin  Doctor  Jim,  and  she  turned 
away  from  me  indifferently. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NEW  LODGINGS 

When  fumes  of  wine  do  once  the  brain  possess; 
Then  follows  straight,  an  indisposedness 
Throughout;  the  legs  are  fettered  in  that  case, 
They  cannot  with  their  reeling  trunk  keep  pace. 

LUCRETIUS. 

WE  did  not  care  much  for  our  landlady.  She  was 
very  reserved  and  superior.  I  think  she  despised  us  for 
our  poverty.  We  were  not  as  profitable  as  gentleman 
boarders  would  have  been. 

Meg  was  leaving  her  situation,  and  going  to  another 
one  near  Glasgow  Green,  where  she  would  get  finished 
at  seven  at  night.  We  made  that  an  excuse  to  go  to 
new  lodgings.  We  got  a  room  over  an  ice-cream  shop, 
near  where  Meg  was  to  work.  They  were  of  a  class 
lower  on  the  social  scale  than  our  last  landlady.  There 
were  three  in  the  family:  a  man  and  wife,  and  a  daugh- 
ter about  sixteen.  Meg  and  I  were  to  sleep  with  the 
girl,  and  pay  half  a  crown  each  a  week.  I  liked  it  bet- 
ter, because  they  were  more  homely  people.  We  gen- 
'erally  sat  in  the  kitchen  with  them  in  the  evenings. 

I  did  not  care  much  for  the  man  though.  He  had  a 
way  of' saying  nasty,  disagreeable  things  that  I  hated. 
We  had  not  been  there  long,  until  we  found  that  the 
woman  took  a  heavy  dram* 

Work  at  the  warehouse  began  to  get  more  plentiful. 

108 


NEW  LODGINGS  109 

Occasionally  we  had  to  work  until  nine  o'clock  at  night. 
I  liked  the  overtime.  It  meant  a  trifle  more  to  me  on 
pay  day. 

There  was  a  large  dining-room  underground  where 
the  girls  could  get  food.  I  never  went  down  at  dinner, 
but  if  we  were  working  late,  I  sometimes  went  there  to 
eat  my  bread.  There  were  long  tables,  bare  of  course, 
with  benches  down  each  side.  Anyone  that  wanted  any- 
thing, went  up  to  the  cook  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  where 
the  cooking  was  done,  and  got  it.  Then  they  carried 
it  back  to  the  table  where  they  wished  to  sit.  The 
cook  was  a  great,  stout  woman,  with  an  exceedingly 
sharp  tongue.  I  never  bought  anything,  but  the  food 
seemed  to  be  very  cheap.  I  simply  went  down  for  the 
warmth.  The  weather  was  bitterly  cold,  and  my  cloth- 
ing was  thin  and  poor.  I  sat  alone  at  the  furthest  back 
table. 

There  was  a  young  woman,  a  machinist,  who  used  to 
come  and  talk  to  Edna  a  lot.  It  seemed  that  she  was 
a  great  Christian.  "Holy  Mary"  they  called  her  be- 
hind her  back.  I  gathered  from  what  I  heard  Edna  say, 
that  though  she  professed  to  be  such  a  Christian,  when 
the  work  was  given  out,  she  did  her  very  utmost  to  get 
the  best  of  it  for  herself.  My  impression  of  her  was 
that  she  was  really  a  great  hypocrite. 

One  night  when  we  were  working  late,  she  came  over 
to  where  I  was  sitting  in  the  dining-hall.  I  wondered 
what  she  was  after,  when  she  seated  herself  beside  me. 

"How  are  you  getting  on?"  she  asked,  in  an  ap- 
parently friendly  tone. 

"Oh,  not  bad,"  I  answered,  feeling  a  trifle  embar- 
rassed. 


110         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"I  just  thought  I  would  like  to  ask  you  a  question," 
she  said  slowly.  "Do  you  love  Jesus?" 

"I  think  so,"  I  stammered,  very  much  taken  aback. 

She  looked  at  me  sorrowfully. 

"Are  you  not  quite  sure?"  she  asked,  in  the  tone  of 
a  judge.  "You  know,  it's  a  great  thing  to  love  Jesus. 
What  happiness  it  was  to  me  when  I  found  Him. 
Think  of  your  soul  before  it  is  too  late,  and  if  you 
have  any  doubts  of  it,  come  to  me,  and  I'll  help 
you." 

I  could  not  speak.  I  simply  sat  and  stared  at  her. 
She  rose  to  go. 

"Now  mind,"  she  said  solemnly.  "If  you  don't  want 
to  go  to  Hell,  you  must  not  delay.  You'll  promise  to 
come  to  me  if  you  need  help." 

"Yes,"  I  answered  meekly,  not  knowing  what  else 
to  say. 

Off  she  went.  I  thought  of  what  she  had  said  all 
the  evening.  I  wondered  what  her  idea  of  loving  Jesus 
was.  I  used  often  to  hear  her  speaking  ill  of  other  girls 
to  Edna.  I  believed  it  to  be  simply  jealousy,  because 
they  were  better  looking  than  herself.  She  was  a  pimply 
faced  girl,  and  wore  her  hair  straight  back  off  her  face, 
which  had  the  effect  of  adding  to  her  plainness.  I  knew 
too  that  she  was  spiteful.  I  began  to  feel  very  annoyed 
at  myself  for  having  been  so  humble  to  her.  I  was  so 
lonely  among  all  that  crowd  of  girls,  that  I  thought  at 
first  that  she  might  be  a  friend  to  me.  I  very  soon  real- 
ised that  her  religion  was  only  a  cloak  which  she  wore 
for  Her  own  advantage.  I  wondered  why  she  wanted  to 
white-wash  my  soul,  as  I  could  not  benefit  her  any.  Per- 
haps it  was  that  she  wanted  to  impress  the  other  girls, 


NEW  LODGINGS  111 

by  showing  them  that  she  was  concerned  about  even 
an  insignificant  creature  like  me. 

My  idea  of  religion  was  altogether  different.  I  had 
nobody  in  the  world  to  open  my  heart  to  when  I  was 
unhappy.  I  had  always  the  feeling  that  God  knew  all 
my  troubles,  and  would  help  me  when  I  most  needed  it. 
I  liked  to  think  of  God  as  a  kind,  loving  father, 
and  so  I  wore  my  religion  in  my  heart.  I  did  not  care 
whether  other  people  thought  me  good-living  or  not. 
God  knew  what  was  in  my  heart,  and  that  was  all  that 
I  considered  necessary. 

Many  a  time  after  that  "Holy  Mary'*  came  to  talk 
to  Edna  but  took  not  the*slightest  notice  of  me.  She  had 
evidently  forgotten  that  I  had  a  soul,  or  it  may  have 
been  that  she  thought  I  was  past  redemption. 

I  had  a  good  distance  to  walk  to  my  lodgings.  On 
late  nights,  it  was  generally  half  past  nine  before  I  got 
home.  I  comforted  myself  all  the  way  by  thinking 
I  would  have  a  nice  warm  fire  to  sit  at  when  I  got  there. 
The  key  was  generally  under  the  door  mat.  I  would 
open  the  door  and  go  in.  In  the  kitchen  I  would  find 
the  fire  out,  and  my  landlady  sitting  on  a  chair,  dead 
drunk.  Meg  and  the  girl  would  be  in  bed,  too  dis- 
gusted to  sit  up.  The  man  would  be  off  to  a  theatre  or 
music  hall.  There  would  be  nothing  else  for  me  to  do 
but  go  off  to  bed,  and  try  to  get  warm  there. 

The  days  wore  on.  It  was  coming  near  the  New 
Year  holidays.  Meg  and  I  thought  we  would  like  to  go 
home  for  a  few  days.  The  restaurant  Meg  worked  in 
was  connected  with  a  large  work,  and  it  was  shut  during 
the  holidays.  As  she  earned  more  money  than  I,  she 
began  to  save  up  to  buy  a  piece  of  waxcloth  to  take 


112         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

home.  She  wanted  enough  to  cover  the  kitchen  floor. 
It  would  save  my  grandmother  having  to  scrub  the 
bare  boards. 

How  proud  we  were,  the  night  we  bought  it.  We 
were  to  stop  work  at  dinner,  on  the  last  day  of  the  year. 
We  meant  to  hurry  home,  get  dressed,  and  go  off  with 
the  first  train  we  could  catch. 

I  almost  flew  along  the  street  that  day.  How  ex- 
cited and  happy  I  felt  at  the  thought  of  seeing  them  all 
at  home  again.  I  ran  up  the  stair  like  the  wind.  When 
I  got  to  the  landing,  there  was  Meg,  the  man  and  the 
girl.  They  said  they  had  been  hammering  and  kicking 
at  the  door  for  the  last  ten  minutes,  and  thought  some- 
thing must  be  wrong,  as  they  had  got  no  answer.  I 
gave  them  a  hand,  and  we  hammered  and  kicked  for 
other  five  minutes,  but  it  was  of  no  use. 

At  last  the  man  got  mad,  and  putting  his  shoulder  to 
the  door,  burst  it  open.  We  followed  him  into  the 
kitchen,  fearful  of  what  we  might  see.  There  was  the 
landlady  lying  on  the  floor,  helplessly  drunk.  In  at- 
tempting to  wash  the  floor,  she  had  upset  the  pail,  and 
had  fallen  with  her  head  inside  it.  She  was  soaked  from 
head  to  foot. 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  the  man  wrathfully.  "Is 
that  no'  a  sight  for  any  man  to  come  in  to?" 

He  and  the  girl,  with  very  ungentle  hands,  trailed 
her  up  on  to  a  chair.  They  took  off  her  wet  things, 
lifted  her  into  the  bed,  and  left  her.  The  man  was 
going  to  carry  our  waxcloth  to  the  station.  The  girl 
was  coming  too,  just  to  see  us  off.  We  all  helped  to  mop 
up  the  water  on  the  floor.  It  was  so  funny,  seeing  the 
man  sprawling  over  the  floor  on  his  knees,  and  wringing 


NEW  LODGINGS  113 

his  cloth  so  awkwardly  into  the  pail,  that  I  got  fair  help- 
less laughing.  Meg  was  afraid  the  man  would  get 
angry,  and  kicked  me  viciously  on  the  shins,  but  I  could 
not  stop. 

The  fire  was  out,  so  there  was  no  chance  of  any  din- 
ner. We  had  an  awful  scurry  to  get  ready.  I  could 
not  get  near  the  sink  at  all  to  wash  my  face,  so  I  carried 
some  water  into  the  room  in  the  frying  pan,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  clean,  and  washed  it  there.  All  the  time, 
the  woman  kept  groaning  away  on  the  bed.  Nobody 
paid  any  attention  to  her. 

At  last  we  were  ready.  The  man  hoisted  the  roll  of 
waxcloth  on  to  his  shoulder. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her?"  asked  Meg 
questioningly,  pointing  toward  the  woman  on  the  bed. 

"She  can  lie  there  an'  cool  herself  'till  we  come  back, 
the  drunken  old  swine  that  she  is,"  answered  the  man, 
with  a  contemptuous  look  at  the  bed.  "Come  on  now. 
We'll  have  to  look  dashed  smart,  if  we're  to  catch  that 
train." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  we  filed  out,  he  leading  the 
way.  Half  way  down  the  stair,  there  was  a  sharp 
turn.  The  man  was  in  such  a  hurry,  he  forgot  to  lower 
the  end  of  the  waxcloth,  which  knocked  against  the 
wall  with  such  force  that  it  threw  him  down  on  the 
stair.  As  we  were  immediately  behind  him,  we  all 
fell.  Meg  had  a  jar  of  honey  on  her  arm  that  she 
was  taking  home.  It  dropped  with  such  force  that  it 
smashed  into  pieces. 

"Damn  it!"  roared  the  man  angrily,  "can  you's  no 
keep  from  walkin'  on  a  man's  heels  altogether?" 

"Didn't  you  tell  us  you'd  go  first,  and  we  were  to 


114         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

come  at  your  back?"  snapped  the  girl.  The  end  of  the 
waxcloth  had  come  down  on  her  toes. 

"I  hope  you'll  always  do  exactly  as  you're  told,"  re- 
torted the  man  bitterly. 

Off  we  started  again,  the  man  this  time  bringing  up 
the  rear.  Our  passage  along  the  streets  was  somewhat 
slow,  especially  as  the  man  would  insist  on  taking  Meg's 
arm.  Two  people  walking  arm  in  arm  in  the  crowded 
streets  might  manage  with  difficulty,  but,  if  accompanied 
by  a  long  roll  of  waxcloth,  the  matter  assumes  serious 
proportions. 

Meg  was  mad  at  the  man  taking  Her  arm,  and  so  was 
I.  It  attracted  attention. 

"Oh,  look  at  the  young  lassie  and  the  old  man,"  I 
heard  a  message  boy  remark  jeeringly. 

The  girl  and  I  now  kept  discreetly  behind,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  rude  remarks  passed  on  Meg  and  the  man 
as  a  hat  was  knocked  off  here,  and  a  cap  there  by  the 
vagaries  of  the  waxcloth. 

I  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  we  reached  the  station. 
At  any  rate,  we  would  get  rid  of  the  man  now.  Alas ! 
it  was  not  so.  He  took  the  waxcloth  to  the  luggage 
van,  then  suddenly  announced  his  intention  of  going 
home  with  us  to  see  our  people,  and  at  the  same  time, 
relieve  us  of  our  burden  to  the  very  door.  What  could 
Meg  say?  No  doubt  he  meant  to  be  kind,  so  we  had  to 
pretend  we  were  delighted.  The  guard  began  to  wave 
his  flag.  The  girl  received  her  final  instructions  about 
looking  after  her  mother  when  she  got  home,  and  off  we 
started  on  our  homeward  journey.  Home  again !  How 
our  hearts  beat.  It  had  often  been  an  unhappy  home  for 
us,  but  what  did  we  care  for  that  now. 


NEW  LODGINGS  115 

Whatever  had  been,  and  very  likely  would  be  again, 
at  any  rate  loving  hearts  would  welcome  us  that  day. 
I  felt  so  happy,  that  I  got  quite  friendly  with  the  man, 
and  very  nearly,  out  of  my  full  heart,  was  asking  him 
if  he  would  not  stay  the  night  with  us.  Fortunately, 
I  caught  myself  up  in  time,  and  receiving  a  nip  on  the 
arm  from  Meg,  as  a  gentle  reminder,  began  to  cool 
down  a  bit.  I  sat  and  stared  out  of  the  carriage  window. 
Soon  familiar  landmarks  came  into  view,  and  I  forgot 
about  the  man  altogether. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

QUEER  TALES 

For  spirits,  freed  from  mortal  laws  with  ease, 
Assume  what  sexes,  and  what  forms  they  please. 

POPE. 

THEY  did  not  know  at  home  what  train  we  were  com- 
ing with,  so  we  thought  we  would  surprise  them.  When 
we  arrived  at  our  village,  the  man  again  shouldered  the 
waxcloth.  Meg  and  I  hurried  him  along  the  streets 
so  fast,  that  he  was  breathless  when  we  reached  our 
house. 

We  dashed  up  the  passage  before  him  and  round  to 
the  door.  There  they  were,  all  standing  waiting.  They 
had  evidently  been  on  the  watch  for  us.  We  were  so 
excited  we  were  all  talking  at  the  same  time.  Every- 
one's face  beamed. 

"Ye're  at  the  wrong  house.  We  order't  no  waxcloth. 
Try  up  the  stair.  Damn  it !  I'm  tellin'  ye  it's  no  for 
us,"  we  heard  my  grandfather's  voice  exclaim  impa- 
tiently at  the  door  after  we  had  gone  in. 

How  terrible  of  Meg  and  me.  We  had  forgotten 
altogether  about  the  man  for  the  moment.  We  ran  to 
the  door.  The  poor  man  was  frantically  trying  to  ex- 
plain and  induce  my  grandfather  to  let  him  in,  and  my 
grandfather,  not  understanding,  and  thinking  it  was 
someone  trying  to  impose  on  him,  was  grimly  deter- 
mined to  keep  him  out. 

116 


QUEER  TALES  117 

We  explained  matters,  and  apologised  for  our  forget- 
fulness.  My  grandfather  lifted  down  the  waxcloth 
from  his  shoulder,  and  with  great  cordiality  invited 
him  in.  Very  soon  the  tea  was  ready  and  we  all  sat 
down  together,  a  thing  that  had  never  happened  be- 
fore. 

Neither  Meg,  Ann  or  I  had  ever  sat  at  the  table 
with  my  grandfather  before.  Indeed  my  grandmother 
hardly  ever  did  either.  We  generally  took  our  food  in 
our  hand,  sitting  just  anywhere.  Jack  sat  with  him 
though.  He  would  not  have  minded  my  grandmother, 
but  if  any  of  we  girls  had  placed  ourselves  at  the  table 
beside  him,  we  would  have  got  a  few  words  of  com- 
fort, accompanied  by  a  look  that  would  have  crushed 
us.  We  never  were  allowed  to  put  ourselves  forward 
either  if  there  was  anyone  in. 

The  tea  passed  off  all  right.  The  man  was  a  good 
talker,  and,  as  it  chanced,  a  bit  of  an  Orangeman,  which 
pleased  my  grandfather  mightily. 

He  waited  until  the  last  train,  and  then  my  grand- 
father convoyed  him  to  the  station,  and  pressed  him  to 
come  back  and  spend  another  day  with  us. 

They  were  so  delighted  with  the  waxcloth  that  they 
started  to  put  it  down  that  night.  The  kitchen  was  so 
small  that  we  all  got  in  each  other's  way.  Each  one 
knew  exactly  how  it  should  be  laid,  and  as  everyone's 
plan  differed  from  the  other's,  some  bitter  words  passed. 
However,  the  job  was  done  at  last  to  everyone's  satis- 
faction, and  we  sat  down  to  admire  it. 

Meg  and  my  grandfather  went  to  the  midnight  ser- 
vice. I  stayed  at  home  and  cleaned  the  fireside. 

I  took  out  all  the  ashes  too,  as  my  grandmother 


118         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

thought  it  very  unlucky  to  do  any  cleaning  or  put  out 
any  rubbish  on  New  Year's  day. 

The  bottle  and  glass  were  left  out  on  the  door  mat 
as  usual  for  my  grandfather  to  first-foot  us.  When  he 
and  Meg  came  in,  we  had  a  glass  of  ginger  wine,  and  a 
piece  of  cake.  After  wishing  each  other  a  happy  New 
Year  we  went  off  to  bed. 

The  few  days  we  had  to  spend  at  home  passed  very 
quickly.  The  day  came  on  which  we  were  to  take  our 
departure.  After  tea,  we  were  all  very  quiet.  Jack 
asked  me  if  I  would  come  back  if  he  could  get  work 
for  me.  I  said  I  would,  because  I  knew  he  was  lonely. 
He  said  if  he  heard  of  anything  he  would  send  me  a 
telegram.  We  put  on  our  things  to  go.  Meg  and  I  felt 
so  sorry  to  leave  them  all.  My  grandfather  looked  at 
us  wistfully,  as  he  said  good-bye. 

"Do  ye's  no  think  ye's  would  come  back  home 
again?"  he  said  in  a  husky  voice.  "Your  mother's  no 
very  able  to  do  much.  If  we  had  two  lodgers,  we  could 
do  fine  with  the  two  o'  ye  at  home." 

My  grandmother  wiped  her  eyes  silently.  What 
could  Meg  and  I  do  but  promise  we  would?  We  said 
we  would  go  back  to  Glasgow  for  a  little  longer  any- 
way. 

I  felt  miserable  all  the  way  up  in  the  train.  The 
tears  would  come  into  my  eyes  when  I  thought  of  them 
sitting  sad  and  lonely  at  home. 

When  we  got  to  our  lodgings,  we  found  everything 
as  usual.  The  three  of  them  seemed  to  be  the  best  of 
friends.  The  episode  on  the  day  of  our  departure  was 
never  alluded  to. 

I  was  back  at  my  work  just  about  a  week,  when  I  re- 


QUEER  TALES  119 

ceived  a  telegram  from  Jack.  I  did  not  know  whether 
to  feel  glad  or  sorry.  I  would  not  have  liked  to  go 
back,  just  to  be  in  the  house  again.  Anyhow,  I  had 
promised  and  I  would  go.  I  went  to  Meg's  place  of 
work  and  told  her.  She  was  vexed  to  be  left  alone,  but 
she  said  she  would  not  go  home  in  the  meantime. 

I  tied  up  my  things  and  got  ready  for  the  train.  My 
landlady  was  sorry  I  was  going  away.  She  said  they 
would  miss  me,  as  many  a  good  laugh  I  had  given 
them. 

When  I  arrived  home,  I  was  greatly  disappointed  to 
find  that  Jack  had  no  work  for  me  at  all.  My  grand- 
mother had  not  been  feeling  very  well,  and  he,  the  sly 
one,  had  made  that  the  excuse. 

A  few  days  after  I  had  come  home,  we  got  word  that 
a  sister  of  my  grandfather's,  the  only  near  relation  he 
had,  was  coming  on  a  visit  to  a  married  son  she  had  in 
a  neighbouring  town.  She  was  to  arrive  that  day  from 
Ireland,  and  was  coming  to  see  us  the  following  night. 

My  grandfather  was  very  pleased,  as  he  had  not 
seen  her  for  years.  Next  night  we  hurried  the  tea  past, 
and  got  the  kitchen  tidied  up. 

She  arrived  soon  after,  accompanied  by  her  son.  She 
was  a  little  old  woman,  with  a  yellow,  shrivelled  face. 
A  black  bonnet,  and  a  black  cashmere  plaid,  worn 
three  corner  ways,  and  with  the  ends  nearly  touching 
the  ground,  gave  her  a  quaint,  old  world  look. 

She  shook  hands  with  us  all.  When  she  came  to  me 
she  asked: 

"Is  this  Nora's  lassie?" 

"Ay,"  answered  my  grandfather,  a  note  of  pain  in  his 
voice. 


120         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

There  was  dead  silence  for  a  minute  or  two.  I  felt 
my  face  flush.  The  old  woman  stood  peering  at  me. 

"She's  a  nice  enough  bit  lassie,"  she  said  at  last. 

The  conversation  became  general,  and  I  heaved  a 
sigh  of  relief. 

There  was  a  great  raking  up  of  old  stories  between 
her  and  my  grandfather.  All  the  exploits  of  their  young 
days  were  lived  over  again.  I  listened  with  eager  in- 
terest. Betty,  as  my  grandfather  called  his  sister,  who 
spoke  in  a  queer,  solemn  kind  of  voice,  told  of  some  of 
the  wild  pranks  they  had  played. 

"Do  ye  min',"  she  said  to  my  grandfather,  "o'  poor 
Johnny  Green,  that  met  his  death  through  a  widger?" 

"Ay  fine,"  answered  my  grandfather,  in  an  awed 
voice.  "Faith !  that  was  a  terrible  affair.'* 

"What  was  that?"  asked  my  grandmother  eagerly. 
"I  don't  min'  o'  any  Johnny  Green." 

"Tell  them  how  it  happen' t,"  urged  old  Betty,  nod- 
ding to  my  grandfather. 

"This  was  the  way  o'  it,"  he  began.  "About  a  dozen 
fella's  took  on  a  widger  with  Johnny  o'  half  a  sovereign 
that  he  wouldna  go  the  graveyard  an'  cry  three  times, 
'Rise,  ye  dead,  Christ  has  come  to  judgment.'  Well 
Johnny,  who  was  feart  for  nothin'  that  walked  in  shoe 
leather,  took  on  the  bet  that  he  would  do  it." 

"It  was  a  fearful  thing  to  widger  about,"  interrupted 
old  Betty.  "No  wonder  the  Lord  sent  a  judgment  on 
him." 

"Well,"  continued  my  grandfather,  "Johnny  took  the 
widger  on  anyway.  He  was  to  go  to  the  middle  o'  the 
cimitry,  an'  cry  it  three  times.  The  other  fella's  was  to 
stan'  at  the  gate  an*  watch  him.  Well,  it  was  a  fine 


QUEER  TALES  121 

moonlight  night  when  they  started  off  for  the  cimitry. 
Boul'  Johnny  opens  the  gate  an'  goes  in.  The  rest 
crewdet  roun'  the  gate  outside  to  get  a  good  view  o' 
him.  Just  when  Johnny  was  half  way  through,  an'  had 
cried  what  he  had  to  cry,  up  rose  a  figger  in  white  an' 
shouts,  'Yes,  Lord,  here  I  come'." 

"God  preserve  us,"  said  my  grandmother,  in  a  shak- 
ing voice. 

"The  other  fella's  saw  him  fallin',  an'  they  run  in," 
went  on  my  grandfather.  "When  they  reached  him, 
the  breath  was  out  o'  his  body  altogether.  He  was  stone 
dead.  With  the  fright  he  got  his  heart  fail't  him.  The 
figger  in  white  had  disappeared.  They  discovered  after 
that  it  was  a  kin'  o'  half  daft  crater  that  was  in  the 
habit  o'  sometimes  wanderin'  through  the  cimitry.  She 
was  wearin'  a  white  shawl  at  the  time.  That  was  the 
last  o'  poor  Johnnie.  Wi'  sad  hearts  they  carried  him 
home." 

"Ay,  that  settlet  them  for  a  while,"  said  Betty,  shak- 
ing her  head  solemnly. 

"Do  ye  min'  the  tailor  that  stayed  beside  us  when 
we  were  merriet  first?"  said  my  grandmother. 

"Ay,  fine,"  answered  Betty.  "What  about  him?" 

"He  played  a  fine  trick  on  the  folk  at  one  time," 
laughed  my  grandfather. 

"Was  that  wee  Geordie  Smillee  ?"  inquired  Barney. 

"The  very  boy,"  answered  my  grandfather. 

"There  was  two  brithers,"  explained  my  grand- 
mother. "As  good  tailors  as  ye  would  have  got  in  the 
north  o'  Irelan',  but  terrible  drunken  craters.  They 
were  sent  for  to  work  at  all  the  big  houses  roun'  about. 
Kin'  heartit  they  were  too.  I  min'  once  there  was  a 


122         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

raggit  soul  o'  a  herd  boy  used  to  go  about.  They  took 
him  in  to  their  house  one  day,  an'  made  him  a  new 
suit  from  head  to  fit  for  nothin'." 

"But  what  was  the  trick  they  played?"  asked  old 
Betty's  son  impatiently.  He  was  a  little  man,  with 
a  round,  shining  bald  head,  and  a  serious  way  of  speak- 
ing, just  like  his  mother. 

"Tell  it,  Wullie  dear,"  said  Betty,  nodding  over  to 
my  grandfather. 

"Well,"  began  my  grandfather,  "it  was  one  time  they 
were  terrible  hard  up.  Not  a  penny  had  they,  an'  they 
were  fair  mad  for  a  glass  o'  whisky.  They  could  get 
no  credit  anywhere.  Well,  they  made  it  up  they  would 
let  on  one  o'  them  had  died.  Patrick,  the  youngest, 
hadna  been  feelin'  very  well  anyway.  He  lay  down 
on  the  bed,  an'  Geordie  spread  a  sheet  over  him.  Out 
he  goes,  an*  locks  the  door.  M'llroy  had  a  public 
house  at  the  corner  at  the  time.  In  goes  Geordie  wi'  a 
long,  mournfu'  face.  M'llroy  looks  at  him. 

"What's  wrong  the  day,  Geordie?"  he  asks. 

"Oh,"  says  Geordie  in  a  trimblin'  voice,  "poor  Pat- 
rick passed  away  this  mornin'." 

"Is  that  a  fact?  I  didn't  think  he  was  as  bad  as 
that,"  answered  M'llroy  sympathetically.  "Poor  fel- 
low, it  must  have  given  ye  a  turn,  him  ta'en  so  suddenly, 
an*  ye' re  only  brither  too." 

"Ay,"  said  Geordie,  rubbin'  his  een  wi'  his  napkin. 
"I'm  that  much  put  aboot  I  don't  know  whither  I'm 
standin'  on  my  head  or  me  feet.  An'  I  haven't  a  glass 
o1  whisky  to  offer  to  the  neighbours  when  they  come 
to  wake  him  the  night." 

"Don't  let  that  worry  ye,"  answered  M'llroy  kindly. 


QUEER  TALES  123 

"I'll  surely  trust  ye  wi'  as  much  as  wake  the  poor  sowl 
decently." 

"He  liftit  down  two  five  gillers,  an'  handit  them  over 
the  counter  to  Geordie.  Geordie  promised  that  as  soon 
as  it  was  all  over,  the  first  money  he  had,  he  would 
come  in  an'  pay  them. 

"Home  he  went,  wi'  the  rVo  bottles  under  his  oxter. 
The  news  soon  spread.  Neighbours  began  to  come  to 
the  door,  to  sympathise  wi'  Geordie.  Two  or  three 
o'  them,  knowin'  he  was  hard  up,  brought  a  bottle  o' 
whisky.  He  kept  them  at  the  door  though,  an'  pointin' 
to  the  bed,  would  say  sorrowfully: 

"I'm  no  fit  to  speak  to  anybody  the  now.  Ye  can 
all  come  in  in  the  evenin'.  Then  he  locked  the  door, 
an'  never  open't  it  to  anybody. 

"The  neighbours,  thinkin'  he  wantit  to  be  alone  in  his 
grief,  bother't  him  no  more  till  night.  Then  they  all 
gather't  at  the  door  for  the  wake.  They  knock't  and 
knock't,  but  got  no  answer.  Heth,  they  thought  some- 
thing was  wrong,  an'  burst  open  the  door.  There  was 
Patrick  and  Geordie,  lyin'  at  the  fireside,  drunk  as 
lords.  Boys,  the  folk  went  clean  mad,  an'  nearly 
wrecked  the  house,  when  they  seen  how  they  had  been 
done." 

"That  was  a  good  one,"  said  Barney,  with  a  chuckle. 
"Niver  min',  Geordie.  He  got  a  good  skinfu'  off  them 
anyway." 

"Do  ye  min'  the  tinker  woman  an'  her  six  weans  that 
ye  let  stay  wi'  ye  for  a  week  in  that  house?"  asked  Betty 
of  my  grandfather. 

"I  min'  o'  them,  anyway,"  said  my  grandmother,  toss- 
ing her  head.  "The  folk  sent  all  the  tramps  that  come 


THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

about  to  our  house.  They  knew  Wullie  would  refuse 
nobody  a  night's  shelter." 

"Faith!  neither  would  you,"  returned  my  grand- 
father with  a  smile  as  he  refilled  his  pipe  which  had 
gone  out. 

"He  niver  would  let  me  lock  the  door  at  night,"  con- 
tinued my  grandmother.  "One  night  we  were  sittin' 
weavin',  when  the  door  opens,  an'  in  walks  a  big  man 
about  six  feet.  He  goes  right  up  to  the  fire,  an'  lights  a 
bit  of  paper  for  his  pipe.  I  was  lookin'  roun'  for  some- 
thin'  that  I  could  fell  him  wi',  when  he  turns  roun',  an' 
walks  out  the  door  without  a  word.  We  heard  next  day 
that  he  was  a  deserter.  The  sodgers  got  him  down 
in  the  moss,  poor  sowl." 

"It  was  a  bad  place,  down  there,"  said  Barney. 
"They  said  it  was  hauntit.  There's  no'  many  would 
pass  it  at  night  anyway." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  remarked  my  grandfather 
thoughtfully.  "I  niver  believed  in  these  kin'  o'  things, 
till  one  night  I  was  drivin'  a  horse  along  that  road. 
When  we  got  to  the  moss,  the  horse  stopped.  I  tried 
to  lead  it,  then  I  leather't  it.  It  was  no  use.  It  wouldna 
move  on  a  step.  The  sweat  was  rinnin'  off  it,  an'  it  was 
all  trimblin'.  Evidently  it  seen  somethin',  for  move 
forrit  it  would  not.  I  turn't  its  head  back  home  again, 
an'  off  it  went  like  stoor." 

"They  said  there  was  a  man  murder't  there,"  said 
Betty  in  an  awed  voice. 

"Is  big  Jock  M'Grath  livin'  yet,  Betty?"  asked 
Barney. 

"He's  dead  these  three  years,"  answered  B°.tty. 

"He  was  a  wild  divil,"  said  Barney  with  a  laugh.  "I 


QUEER  TALES  125 

min'  o'  him  bein'  at  a  wake  one  night.  Oul'  Nancy  Wil- 
son it  was.  A  hard  oul'  screw  she  was  when  she  was 
livin'.  Anyway,  we  were  all  gether't,  when  in  comes 
Jock.  Over  he  goes  to  the  bed  where  Nancy  was  laid 
out  an'  lifts  her  up  wi'  her  back  again  the  wa'.  Then 
he  startit  a  clog  dance  in  front  o'  her.  The  rest  got 
feart,  an'  pulled  him  down  on  to  a  chair.  When  he 
could  get  doin'  nothin'  else,  he  stuck  pins  into  the  lassies 
an'  had  them  yellin'  murder." 

"Much  he  cared  for  either  dead  or  livin',"  remarked 
Betty.  "He's  away  now.  May  his  sowl  rest  in  peace." 

The  clock  struck  ten. 

"Dear  me,"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise,  "is  it  that 
time  already?  We'll  have  to  go.  Come  on  Robert 
John,"  to  her  son. 

She  shook  hands  solemnly  with  us  and  bade  us  good- 
bye with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"I'll  niver  see  ye's  again  in  this  world,"  she  said 
sadly.  "Good-bye  weans,  dears,  an'  may  God  bless  an' 
keep  ye." 

She  passed  out  into  the  night,  a  quaint,  pathetic  old 
figure.  I  never  saw  her  again. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN  A  TEA  ROOM 

Meg  was  meek,  and  Meg  was  mild, 
Bonnie  Meg  was  nature's  child; 
Wiser  men  than  me  beguil'd — 
Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't. 

BURNS. 

IN  another  month  Meg  came  home.  She  did  not  like 
being  alone,  and  my  grandmother  wanted  her  help  as 
she  was  going  to  get  two  lodgers.  Besides,  she  felt  the 
heavy  washings  too  much  for  her. 

My  grandfather  always  wore  white  moleskin  trous- 
ers. He  was  so  particular  that  they  should  be  snow 
white.  We  took  turn  about  of  scrubbing  them  until 
our  arms  ached.  Then  they  had  to  be  boiled.  After 
that  they  were  bleached  for  a  day  or  two.  When  they 
had  been  worn  for  a  day  they  were  perfectly  black.  Jack 
hated  to  see  him  with  them  on.  He  thought  they  were 
so  poorhouse  looking.  He  generally  wore  an  old  tweed 
pair. 

The  lodgers  came.  This  time  it  was  two  highlandmen. 
One  of  them,  a  conceited  kind  of  character,  with  a  blue 
chin,  a  scarlet  nose  and  beady  eyes,  took  a  great  fancy 
to  Meg.  She  did  not  tell  me,  but  I  knew. 

They  had  a  cup  of  tea  in  their  room  at  night,  before 
going  to  bed.  She  always  served  it.  One  night,  after 
she  had  taken  it  in,  I  thought  I  heard  a  scuffle. 


IN  A  TEA  ROOM  127 

I  flew  to  the  door  and  listened.  It  happened  that  Meg's 
admirer  was  in  alone  that  night.  I  peeped  through 
the  keyhole.  He  had  the  hold  of  Meg  by  the  arm,  and 
was  wanting  her  to  kiss  him.  She  looked  so  mad,  I 
thought  for  a  moment  that  she  was  going  to  throw  the 
hot  tea  in  his  face.  I  noticed  what  evidently  he  did 
not,  that  she  had  still  the  hold  of  the  cup  by  the  handle. 
She  did  not  do  it  though,  much  to  my  disappointment. 
She  just  knocked  his  arm  away  roughly,  and  dashed  out 
of  the  room.  She  came  out  in  such  a  hurry  that  before 
I  could  get  up  from  the  keyhole,  she  fell  over  me  in 
the  lobby. 

"What  the  divil's  that?"  shouted  my  grandfather 
angrily  from  the  kitchen. 

"I  tripped  over  the  door  mat  in  the  dark,"  explained 
Meg,  darting  an  angry  look  at  me. 

My  grandfather  looked  at  us  suspiciously  for  a  min- 
ute but  let  the  matter  drop. 

Meg  could  hardly  speak  civilly  to  the  Highlandman 
after  that.  When  she  was  not  looking,  I  used  often 
to  see  him  casting  admiring  glances  at  her. 

About  the  middle  of  the  summer,  Meg  went  to  work 
in  a  tea-room.  On  days  when  they  were  extra  busy  I 
went  also  to  help.  I  liked  to  work  in  it  as  it  was 
always  cheery.  There  was  little  doing  in  the  winter,  so 
there  was  only  one  girl  kept.  As  the  wage  was  too 
small  for  any  of  the  other  girls,  being  only  three  shill- 
ings a  week,  Meg  thought  I  might  take  it.  It  was  the 
end  of  October  when  I  started.  I  went  to  the  house  in 
the  morning  for  the  keys,  and  was  in  sole  charge  of 
the  shop  all  day.  Sometimes  Mrs.  S ,  the  proprie- 
tress, would  come  in  in  the  afternoon  and  sit  a  little 


128         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

while,  but  often  I  would  not  see  her  all  day.  I  never 
felt  at  ease  with  her.  She  had  a  stony  eye,  and  a  very 
abrupt  manner.  Her  complexion  was  florid,  and  she 
wore  her  black  hair  in  a  Japanese  kind  of  style. 

She  had  been  married  twice,  but  her  second  husband 
did  not  live  with  her.  Often  in  the  evenings  she  went 
for  long  walks.  She  seemed  to  have  few  friends. 

Meg  told  me  that  her  husband  used  to  come  in  the 
summer  sometimes  and  stay  a  day  or  two.  She  thought 

him  a  queer  man.  Mrs.  S told  Meg  that  he  had 

quarrelled  with  her  once  because  he  had  seen  her  ser- 
vant down  on  her  knees  scrubbing.  He  said  the  girl 
should  not  have  to  scrub,  because  it  spoilt  her  figure. 

One  afternoon  Mrs.  S came  down  with  a  book 

in  her  hand.  She  said  as  there  was  nothing  doing,  she 
would  read  to  me.  I  liked  the  story  very  well.  It  was 
one  of  Conan  Doyle's,  but  all  the  time  she  was  reading, 
I  was  wondering  what  kind  of  woman  she  was.  I  never 
could  penetrate  the  least  bit  below  the  surface.  After 
she  had  finished  reading,  she  began  to  tell  me  about  a 
public-house  she  had  had  in  Edinburgh,  just  shortly 
after  she  had  married  her  second  husband. 

She  said  it  was  frequented  a  great  deal  by  travellers. 
As  a  rule,  she  served  in  the  bar  herself.  One  night  she 
was  there,  a  very  nice  looking  man  came  in  for  a  drink. 
Not  knowing  that  she  was  married,  he  asked  her  if  she 
would  go  for  a  walk  with  him.  She  told  him  she  was 
sorry  to  disappoint  him,  but  she  was  afraid  her  husband 
would  object.  He  laughed  and  apologised.  Next  day 
she  found  out  that  he  was  the  officiating  hang- 
man. 

While  we  were  talking,  a  tall  gentleman,  with  a  black 


IN  A  TEA  ROOM  129 

beard  came  in.  He  was  rather  good  looking  and  wore 
gold  eyeglasses.  We  were  sitting  behind  the  counter. 
He  just  looked  at  us,  and  walked  into  the  tea-room.  I 
followed  him,  to  see  what  he  wanted.  He  ordered 
tea  and  cakes.  I  served  him  and  sat  down  beside  Mrs. 

S again.  She  had  her  head  bent  over  her  book  and 

did  not  speak. 

The  gentleman  finished  his  tea,  and  came  to  the  coun- 
ter to  pay  it.  Mrs.  S gave  him  his  change  with- 
out a  word,  and  he  walked  out. 

"That's  Mr.  S ,"  she  said  to  me  quietly. 

I  was  astonished,  having  never  dreamt  that  the  man 
was  her  husband.  I  did  not  like  him  somehow.  We  sat 
very  quiet  for  a  long  time,  then  she  sent  me  out  to  see 
if  he  was  anywhere  about.  I  looked  round,  but  could 
not  see  a  sign  of  him.  I  was  just  coming  back  to  tell 
her  so,  when,  chancing  to  glance  in  at  a  public-house 
door  as  I  passed,  I  saw  him  standing  at  the  bar.  I  ran 
back  and  told  her.  She  seemed  to  be  frightened.  It  was 
dark,  so  she  said  we  would  just  shut  the  shop  and  go 
home. 

We  locked  the  door  and  hurried  up  the  street  as  fast 
as  we  could.  About  half  way,  I  looked  back.  My 
heart  jumped.  There  he  was,  coming  after  us  as  quick 

as  he  could.  I  told  Mrs.  S .  We  hurried  round 

the  corner,  and  hid  in  another  building,  and  considered 
what  we  would  do. 

Very  soon  he  appeared  and  went  up  the  stair  to  the 
house  where  she  stayed.  We  heard  him  ringing  fu- 
riously at  the  bell.  Then  he  came  down  and  stood  at 
the  entrance,  evidently  watching  for  us.  He  waited 
there  for  ever  so  long.  At  last  he  did  go  away.  I 


130         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

waited  until  Mrs.  S got  into  the  house  and  then 

ran  home. 

Shortly  after,  she  announced  her  intention  of  going 
to  Edinburgh.  She  meant  to  take  a  hotel  there,  and 
asked  me  if  I  would  go  with  her.  I  was  mad  to  go  to 
Edinburgh,  to  see  Holyrood  Palace,  so  I  said  I  would 

go- 

A  few  weeks  after  the  shop  was  shut.  She  was  not 
going  for  two  months,  but  I  stayed  with  her  to  help  in 
the  house. 

I  generally  got  home  about  seven  at  night,  but  some- 
times she  kept  me  later.  I  hated  when  she  kept  me 
late,  because  my  grandfather  would  never  believe  I  was 
there.  He  was  angry  when  I  went  home,  and  said  I  was 
just  running  the  streets.  There  was  no  use  explaining. 
He  simply  would  not  listen. 

It  drew  near  the  time  when  she  was  to  go  away. 
Jack  urged  me  strongly  not  to  go.  He  did  not  like 

Mrs.  S .  I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  I  was  afraid 

I  would  not  get  on  with  her,  and  would  have  to  come 
home  again.  At  last  I  told  her  I  would  not  go.  She 
was  very  much  annoyed.  I  left  the  next  day. 

I  felt  it  very  dull  being  at  home  again.  Meg  and  I 
were  hardly  ever  out  at  night.  My  grandfather  ob- 
jected. He  seemed  to  think  we  should  not  go  out  in 
the  dark.  If  we  did  go,  and  waited  until  ten  o'clock, 
we  would  be  pulled  in  by  the  hair  on  entering  the 
house.  Then  we  would  get  a  volley  of  abuse  that 
would  make  us  feel  dejected  for  a  week.  We  thought 
when  we  came  back  from  Glasgow  that  things  would 
be  different.  They  were  for  a  short  time,  but  very 
soon  came  back  to  the  old  order  again. 


IN  A  TEA  ROOM  131 

Before  the  winter  passed,  we  heard  several  times  of 
my  mother  being  in  jail  again.  Each  time  it  gave  my 
grandfather  a  fresh  stab.  His  face  got  more  lined  every 
day.  He  would  lean  his  head  wearily  on  his  hand  and 
say: 

"Oh  well,  the  Lord  has  afflicted  us  sorely,  but  it's 
maybe  for  some  purpose.  He  knows  best." 

"Ay  faith,  God's  ways  are  strange,"  my  grand- 
mother would  answer  solemnly  shaking  her  head. 

"Wherever  she  is,  poor  misguided  sowl,  may  He  look 
down  on  her  with  mercy." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WORKING  IN  A  MILL 

Alas !  that  dreams  are  only  dreams! 

That  fancy  cannot  give 
A  lasting  beauty  to  those  forms, 

Which  scarce  a  moment  live. 

R.  DAWES. 

AT  the  beginning  of  the  summer,  Meg  and  I  thought 
we  would  try  again  in  the  neighbouring  town  for  work. 
This  time  we  went  to  the  factories.  We  were  lucky 
enough  to  get  taken  on  in  a  large  merino  mill,  for  the 
knitting  department. 

We  got  up  at  half  past  four  in  the  morning.  Meg 
wanted  a  cup  of  tea  before  going  out,  when  we  had 
to  be  dressed  in  time  to  catch  the  five-twenty  train. 
When  we  reached  the  town  we  had  a  long  walk  to  the 
mill.  We  were  very  anxious  to  know  how  we  would 
get  on.  When  we  arrived  at  our  destination,  we  were 
told  to  wait  in  the  gate-house.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
Manager  who  had  engaged  us  came  in.  He  gave  us  a 
friendly  nod  and  told  us  to  come  with  him.  We  fol- 
lowed him  through  passages  and  up  stairs,  until  we 
reached  the  place  where  the  knitters  worked.  He  left 
us  there  with  the  forewoman.  She  took  us  up  to  the 
end  of  the  room  and  gave  us  a  stocking  machine  each. 
She  then  told  two  girls  who  were  working  at  their  own 

132 


WORKING  IN  A  MILL  133 

machines  to  teach  us,  and  walked  away.  As  soon  as 
her  back  was  turned  the  girls  made  faces  after  her. 
Afterwards,  I  became  addicted  to  the  same  habit  my- 
self. We  soon  found  out  that  she  was  a  bit  of  a 
warmer. 

Many  were  the  curious  glances  cast  in  our  direction. 
I  was  glad  our  machines  were  in  the  very  back  row, 
so  that  I  could  keep  my  back  to  the  girls. 

We  were  allowed  a  girl  for  a  week  to  teach  us.  For 
that  week  we  were  to  get  five  shillings,  and  I  think  the 
girl  that  taught  us  got  the  same.  After  that,  we  were 
to  be  on  piecework. 

I  was  much  relieved  to  find  that  the  girls  were  a  dif- 
ferent class  from  those  of  the  warehouse  in  Glasgow. 
They  were  more  homely  and  had  no  airs  about  them. 
I  liked  working  beside  them.  Those  who  did  not  go 
home  for  their  dinner  were  allowed  to  stay  in  the  work- 
room. About  half  a  dozen  stayed  in.  Meg  and  I 
made  friends  with  them. 

I  did  not  like  going  up  and  down  to  the  mill  though. 
The  knitters  were  decently  dressed,  but  the  flat  girls 
(those  who  span  the  wool)  of  whom  there  were  about 
three  times  as  many,  just  wore  a  shawl  on  their  head. 
The  flat  girls  bore  a  great  enmity  towards  the  knitters, 
because  they  went  dressed  to  their  work. 

At  that  time  my  hair  was  pretty  short.  I  wore  a 
large  bow  of  ribbon  at  the  back  to  hide  deficiencies. 
Two  of  the  flat  girls  noticed  this  the  second  day  after 
I  started  and  began  to  shout. 

"Toozy  'Lizzie.  A  pennyworth  o'  ribbon,  an'  a  half- 
penny worth  o'  hair." 

That  started  others.    Very  soon  there  were  about  two 


134         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

dozen  yelling  at  me  every  time  I  went  up  and  down  the 
road. 

Sometimes  they  would  come  close  to  me,  and  shout 
it  into  my  face.  I  did  not  dare  say  a  word,  or  put  out 
my  hand  to  push  them  away.  That  indeed,  was  what 
they  wanted,  and  would  have  been  the  signal  for  a  bat- 
tle royal.  Nothing  would  they  have  liked  better  than 
a  tussle  with  the  knitters. 

This  lasted  about  a  fortnight.  It  got  so  on  my  nerves 
that  I  thought  I  would  have  to  leave.  Then  all  at  once 
they  left  me  alone.  Either  something  else  had  taken 
up  their  attention,  or  they  thought  me  too  poor  game. 

Very  soon  we  could  make  a  pretty  fair  wage.  Stock, 
we  got  on  fine  with,  but  orders  were  a  terror.  Every- 
body tried  to  jink  them.  Stock  would  be  perhaps  a 
dozen  pairs  of  stockings  all  the  one  size.  An  order 
would  be  just  one  pair,  and  we  would  get  a  stocking  as 
a  pattern,  to  make  the  pair  exactly  the  same.  The 
orders  were  generally  given  out  late  in  the  afternoon. 

Whenever  we  saw  Miss  C ,  the  forewoman,  sorting 

out  the  orders  at  her  desk,  we  ducked  under  our  ma- 
chine, pretending  we  were  arranging  our  work,  hoping 
she  would  pass  us  over.  But  no.  Down  the  message 
girl  would  come  with  a  ticket  and  a  sample  to  measure 
by.  It  was  always  a  great  relief  to  the  girls  when  they 
did  not  get  an  order.  It  took  such  a  long  time  for  a 
mere  nothing.  We  would  knit,  and  keep  measuring  it 
with  the  pattern.  When  it  was  finished  we  had  to  take 

it  to  Miss  C .  She  would  measure  it,  and  pull  it 

this  way  and  that. 

"Take  it  b?.ck,"  she  would  snap.  "It's  two  inches  too 
short." 


WORKING  IN  A  MILL  135 

Back  we  would  go  to  our  machine  and  do  it  over 
again,  muttering  a  blessing  on  her  in  every  row.  Out 
we  would  go  again.  She  would  glare  at  us,  and 
snatch  it  out  of  our  hand.  The  measuring  would  begin 
again. 

"An  inch  too  long,"  would  be  her  verdict,  and  she 
would  throw  it  over  the  desk  to  us. 

Very  often  she  was  done  though.  I  have  known  the 
girls  take  it  back  to  their  machine,  but  never  touch  it. 
In  a  while,  back  they  would  go  with  it  and  she  would 
say  it  was  all  right. 

She  was  the  most  disagreeable  young  woman  I  have 
ever  met.  She  hardly  ever  gave  us  a  civil  word.  Before 
she  became  forewoman,  she  had  been  a  knitter,  and  I 
suppose  she  thought  she  could  show  the  superiority  of 
her  position  better  by  being  stiff.  The  only  time  she 
smiled  and  looked  pleasant  was  when  the  foremen  came 
to  talk  to  her.  But  that  is  women  all  over.  They  think 
they  can  be  as  disagreeable  as  they  like  to  their  own  sex, 
but  there  is  always  an  angelic  smile  for  the  men. 

A  new  rule  was  made,  that  all  the  girls  must  be 
out  of  the  workroom  at  the  meal  hours,  and  the  doors 
locked.  On  fine  days  we  sat  on  the  grass  by  the  road- 
side, in  front  of  the  mill,  and  ate  our  dinner.  The  flat 
girls  sat  there  too.  They  shouted  insulting  things  to 
everyone  that  passed. 

We  were  paid  every  fortnight.  If  we  happened  to 
have  good  work  and  earned  a  little  more,  Meg  and  I 
shared  it  with  Ann  and  my  grandmother. 

If  we  had  given  it  to  my  grandfather  he  would  just 
have  expected  the  same  every  time. 

One  Saturday  my  grandfather  went  to  the  town  to 


136         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

see  a  man  that  belonged  to  the  same  Orange  Lodge  as 
himself.  There  he  met  the  man's  son,  and  invited  him 
to  see  us. 

He  came  the  following  Saturday.  John  Wilson  his 
name  was.  My  grandparents  were  away  in  the  town 
when  he  came.  He  said  "Hullo"  when  Meg  opened 
the  door  to  him.  She  asked  him  if  he  was  John  Wil- 
son. He  said  he  was,  so  she  told  him  to  come  in. 

He  was  a  stout,  not  bad  looking  young  man  of  nine- 
teen. We  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  him.  We 
had  not  the  slightest  experience  in  entertaining  young 
men.  Anyhow,  we  thought  we  would  make  a  beginning 
by  giving  him  some  tea.  We  set  it  down  on  the  table, 
but,  not  being  in  the  habit  of  dining  with  the  male  mem- 
bers of  our  family,  we  made  no  exception  in  his  case. 
Meg  invited  him  to  sit  at  the  table,  alone,  then  we  all 
stood  around  and  stared  at  him  eating.  It  seemed  to 
embarrass  him  a  great  deal.  He  gulped  his  tea  down 
so  quick,  I'm  sure  the  skin  of  his  throat  was  tender  for  a 
considerable  time  after. 

When  he  had  finished,  Meg  suggested  that  I  should 
take  him  into  the  big  room  and  play  the  piano  for  his 
entertainment.  I  did  so,  and  played  all  the  choruses 
I  knew  by  ear. 

He  seemed  to  be  greatly  taken  on  with  the  piano. 
After  a  little  he  said  he  would  like  to  try  it  himself. 
I  politely  offered  him  the  chair  which  did  duty  for  a 
piano  stool.  He  sat  down,  and  stuck  there  for  a  solid 
hour  trying  to  play  "We're  a'  noddin' "  with  his  one 
finger. 

Meg  came  in  and  sat  down  for  about  ten  minutes. 
Finding  that  he  took  no  notice  of  her,  she  went  over 


WORKING  IN  A  MILL  137 

beside  him  and  said  something  almost  in  his  ear.  He 
looked  at  her  for  a  minute  with  a  vacant  stare,  then 
fixed  his  attention  on  the  piano  again.  Disgusted,  she 
returned  to  the  kitchen.  Not  so  with  me.  It  was  the 
first  time  I  had  had  the  honour  of  entertaining  a  young 
man  so  I  stuck  to  my  post.  It  certainly  was  slow  work, 
but  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  surveying  him  from  all 
points  of  view.  I  thought  him  a  pretty  tough  looking 
customer. 

At  last  he  stopped,  apparently  well  satisfied  with  him- 
self. I  took  him  into  the  kitchen  again.  He  sat  for  a 
little  while,  speechless,  unless  when  spoken  to,  and  then 
rose  to  go.  We  saw  him  to  the  door.  He  said  he  would 
be  back  the  following  Saturday. 

Soon  after  my  grandparents  came  in.  My  grand- 
father was  very  pleased  to  hear  that  the  young  man  had 
come  down. 

The  next  Saturday  he  again  turned  up.  This  time 
he  had  a  roll  of  music  with  him.  He  presented  it  to 
me.  We  gave  him  tea  in  the  same  solitary  way  as 
before.  He  did  not  seem  to  enjoy  it  any  better.  After- 
wards, he  had  an  hour  at  "We're  a'  noddin' "  at  the 
piano.  He  asked  me  if  I  could  play  any  of  the  music 
he  had  brought.  I  managed  to  pick  out  two  or  three 
tunes  slowly  with  my  one  finger. 

After  that  he  came  every  Saturday.  It  was  gener- 
ally understood  in  the  house  that  he  came  after  me. 
I  marvelled  at  my  grandfather  allowing  it.  If  I  had 
been  seen  speaking  to  a  young  man  in  the  street  I 
know  what  would  have  happened.  It  must  have  been 
because  his  father  was  an  Orangeman.  Or  perhaps  he 
thought  that  if  I  got  married  young,  it  might  save  a  lot 


138         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

of  trouble  in  the  future.  It  made  me  feel  very  im- 
portant to  have  a  young  man  courting  me.  But  then, 
I  was  never  sure  whether  it  was  me  or  the  piano  he 
came  after.  In  fact  looking  back  even  now  I'm  afraid 
I  must  give  the  piano  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  My  ro- 
mance had  a  sudden  ending  though. 

One  Saturday  Meg  and  I  went  to  the  town  for  a 
walk.  We  met  a  young  man  who  worked  in  the  mill 
and  he  joined  us.  Turning  to  look  at  something,  I  saw 
John  Wilson  staring  at  us.  I  pretended  not  to  see  him 
and  walked  on. 

The  following  Saturday  when  he  came  down  I  said 
for  fun  that  I  had  heard  he  was  going  with  a  girl. 

"Who  told  you  that?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"Oh,  I  heard  it,"  I  answered  with  a  laugh. 

"If  I  knew  who  told  you  that,"  he  said  sullenly,  "I'd 
spit  in  their  eye." 

I  started.  I  felt  very  proud  to  think  he  would  want 
to  spit  in  anyone's  eye  just  for  my  sake.  To  me  it  was 
just  as  great  an  honour  as  if  he  had  said  he  was  going 
to  fight  a  duel  for  me.  He  sat  two  and  a  half  hours 
after  that,  and  in  that  time  only  said  four  words.  I  kept 
moving  my  foot,  and  shifting  my  chair  about  to  see  if 
I  could  rouse  him.  It  was  of  no  use. 

The  next  Saturday  evening  we  walked  with  the  same 
young  man,  and  met  John  Wilson  as  before.  He  must 
have  been  on  the  watch  for  us.  He  never  came  to  see 
me  again. 

I  did  not  trouble  much  about  him  though.  My  cous- 
ins were  coming  for  a  few  days  as  it  was  the  fair 
holidays,  so  I  thought  I  might  get  some  fun.  Meg 
and  I  were  having  our  holidays  too,  so  we  were  busy 


WORKING  IN  A  MILL  139 

cleaning  the  house.  I  was  busy  white-washing 
the  kitchen  wall  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door. 

"If  that's  a  bowl  wife,  there's  some  rags  under  the 
kitchen  bed  she  can  get,"  said  my  grandmother.  "She'll 
maybe  give  us  a  cup  or  two  for  them." 

"Can  you  not  open  the  door  and  see  who  it  is,"  cried 
Meg  impatiently  from  under  the  bed  where  she  was 
busy  scrubbing.  I  had  on  an  old  shirt  of  my  grand- 
father's, and  a  red  night  cap  with  all  my  hair  pushed 
under  it.  My  feet  were  bare  and  I  had  no  skirt  on. 
I  certainly  was  not  in  a  fit  state  to  open  the  door  to 
anyone  but  what  did  I  care  for  a  bowl  wife?  I  dived 
under  the  kitchen  bed,  grabbed  an  armful  of  rags,  and 
flew  to  the  door. 

I  thought  I'd  better  have  a  look  through  the  keyhole 
before  I  opened  it.  I  saw  it  was  the  minister,  so  I 
never  opened  the  door  at  all.  I  disliked  any  of  the 
church  people  visiting  us.  I  could  not  bear  their  con- 
descending way  of  talking  to  us.  I  did  not  see  what 
right  they  had  to  speak  to  us  as  if  we  were  so  very 
inferior. 

Next  morning  my  cousins  arrived.  Nell's  sweetheart 
came  down  with  them  to  spend  the  day.  He  was  a 
jolly  kind  of  fellow,  and  a  fine  baritone  singer.  He 
was  a  music  hall  artiste.  Nell  disgusted  us  by  sitting 
on  his  knee  the  whole  time  he  was  in  the  house.  I  was 
surprised  my  grandfather  did  not  give  her  a  dig  about 
it.  He  did  not  though.  He  just  smiled  at  them.  I 
know  that  if  Meg  or  I  had  done  such  a  thing  we  would 
have  lost  a  few  hairs,  not  to  speak  of  the  bruises  we 
would  have  acquired. 


140         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

But  then  my  cousins  never  could  do  anything  out 
of  place. 

We  did  not  know  where  we  were  all  to  sleep.  My 
grandparents  went  into  the  little  room,  and  gave  my 
brother  and  his  wife  the  kitchen  bed.  The  three  girls, 
Meg,  Ann  and  I,  were  to  sleep  in  the  big  room  bed. 
We  did  not  lie  up  and  down,  but  across,  with  chairs 
along  the  front  to  put  our  feet  on.  We  laughed  so 
much  at  first  that  we  did  not  want  to  sleep.  After  that 
we  felt  so  uncomfortable  that  we  could  not  sleep.  I 
could  not  get  my  feet  on  a  chair  at  all.  They  always 
slipped  down  between.  I  tried  to  rest  myself  by  draw- 
ing up  my  knees,  but  Meg  promptly  objected  to 
that. 

"How  do  you  expect  to  get  lying  sprawling  comfort- 
ably on  your  back  with  six  in  a  bed?"  she  demanded. 
"Be  content  with  your  share." 

Which  advice  she  followed  up  by  giving  me  a  violent 
push  over  on  my  side.  I  rolled  over  so  quickly  that  I 
landed  heavily  on  Nell's  face.  She  yelled  with  the 
pain.  I  had  bled  her  nose.  The  next  thing  I  heard  was 
my  grandfather's  feet  coming  along  the  lobby.  I  quickly 
covered  my  head  with  the  bed  clothes  and  pretended  I 
was  asleep.  He  had  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand,  and 
looked  wild  in  his  shirt  and  red  nightcap.  I  peered 
warily  out  to  see  what  would  happen. 

"What  the  divil's  up  with  ye's?"  he  cried  angrily. 

Nobody  spoke.  We  were  all,  as  far  as  appearances 
went,  sound  asleep. 

"Damn't,  fine  I  know  who  it  is,"  he  said  Bitterly,  giv- 
ing me  a  shake.  "Ye're  up  to  some  o'  yer  tricks  again." 
Nobody  moved. 


WORKING  IN  A  MILL  141 

At  last,  shaking  his  fist  threateningly  at  the  bed,  off 
he  stamped. 

The  following  night  we  tied  the  chairs  in  against 
the  bed  and  managed  not  so  bad. 

Next  day  they  went  home.  Our  cousin  Mary  was 
coming  to  spend  the  week  end  with  us.  She  arrived  in 
the  evening  when  all  the  others  had  gone. 

On  the  Sunday  night,  she  and  I  went  to  church  to- 
gether. After  the  service  was  over,  I  got  her  to  go  for 
a  walk  to  the  town.  Just  as  we  were  turning  to  come 
home,  we  met  John  Wilson.  He  stopped,  and  I  left 
Mary  to  go  and  speak  to  him.  Perhaps  I  had  stood 
longer  than  I  had  thought,  anyhow,  when  I  left  him, 
and  turned  to  look  for  Mary,  she  had  disappeared.  I 
was  in  a  state.  I  knew  that  if  she  went  home  without 
me,  I  would  get  into  a  row.  She  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen,  so  there  was  nothing  else  for  me  to  do  but  take 
the  car  home.  When  I  knocked  at  the  door,  Meg  let 
me  in.  I  slipped  into  the  room  feeling  frightened. 
Then  I  heard  Mary's  voice  in  the  kitchen.  She  was  in 
a  terrible  temper. 

"Who  does  she  think  would  look  at  her,  the  B — d 
that  she  is,"  I  heard  her  say.  "I'm  sure  no  decent 
fellow  would  be  seen  speaking  to  her.  She'll  no'  make 
a  fool  of  me  in  a  hurry." 

Meg  and  Ann  sat  in  sullen  silence.  My  grandparents 
were  in  bed. 

I  listened  to  no  more,  but  shut  the  big  room  door 
gently.  I  sat  down  at  the  window,  feeling  as  if  my 
heart  would  burst.  I  looked  for  a  while  at  the  stars, 
and  at  the  dark  hills  in  the  distance  and  a  little  peace 
came  into  my  heart.  I  loved  the  stars,  and  the  hills. 


142         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  always  felt  that  they  were  friends.  I  wondered 
miserably  if  it  was  true  that  no  decent  person  who  knew 
who  I  was  would  have  anything  to  do  with  me.  If  I 
did  make  a  real  friend,  and  they  discovered  my  history, 
they  would  drop  me  like  a  hot  coal.  I  had  never  had  a 
friend  that  I  could  trust,  but  I  had  dreams  of  some 
day  having  one.  I  don't  think  I  could  have  had  any 
happiness  at  all,  if  it  had  not  been  for  my  dreams. 
There  was  very  little  in  my  life  to  brighten  it.  It  was 
not  life,  but  merely  existence.  Work,  eat  and  sleep. 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  been  content,  but  I  was  not, 
so  I  lived  in  my  dreams.  What  wonderful  romances  I 
used  to  build  in  the  evenings,  when  I  sat  at  the  window, 
with  a  piece  of  work  in  my  hand.  My  life  was  sordid, 
but  I  could  wander  at  pleasure  in  a  world  of  my  own. 

And  now  Mary  had  made  me  realize  that  I  was  a 
person  to  be  shunned  by  decent-living  people.  I  opened 
the  window  softly  to  cool  my  face,  which  felt  burning. 

The  moon  peepe'd  out  from  behind  a  cloud.  A  light 
wind  brushed  against  my  hot  cheek,  soft  as  velvet. 
Somehow,  I  began  to  think  less  of  what  Mary  had 
said.  What  did  I  care  what  people  thought?  Besides, 
I  knew  they  were  all  wrong.  If  I  had  inherited  my 
mother's  weaknesses  or  vices,  then  God  would  certainly 
give  me  the  power  to  cast  them  out.  Bye  and  bye  I 
crept  into  bed,  feeling  a  great  deal  calmer. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

I    LEAVE    MY    HOME 

You've  done  enough,  for  you  designed  my  chains. 
The  grace  is  vanished,  but  the  affront  remains. 

DRYDEN. 

THE  autumn  came,  and  passed  all  too  quickly.  The 
bronze  leaves  fell  from  the  trees  with  little  whisper- 
ing sighs,  as  if  with  regret  that  for  them  life  was  over. 

Meg  and  I  felt  the  cold  very  much  in  the  mornings. 
Sometimes  we  slept  in.  Meg  would  not  have  time  to 
make  tea,  and  we  would  not  get  ourselves  properly 
dressed.  We  just  had  to  push  our  hair  under  our  hats 
anyway  and  do  it  up  in  the  train.  It  was  full  of  work- 
men going  to  the  shipyards.  We  were  the  only  girls 
who  travelled  so  early. 

We  always  got  a  compartment  to  ourselves  unless  we 
happened  to  be  very  late.  In  that  case  we  had  to  make 
a  rush  for  it,  and  get  in  anywhere.  The  train  would 
be  almost  on  the  move.  Two  or  three  hands  would 
drag  us  into  a  compartment.  Meg  just  laughed,  but  I 
hated  it — the  men  chaffed  us  so  much. 

A  new  girl  came  to  work  beside  me.  She  was  tall 
and  slim,  with  great  staring  dark  eyes.  She  had  a  way 
of  glaring  angrily  at  any  of  the  girls  who  chanced  to 
look  at  her.  Several  of  the  girls  made  fun  of  her  and 
the  girl  who  taught  her  made  a  fool  of  her  behind  her 
back.  I  felt  sorry  for  her,  knowing  too  well  myself 

143 


144         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

what  it  was  to  work  among  strangers.  She  did  not 
go  home  at  the  meal  hour,  so  I  went  and  made  friends 
with  her.  She  was  pretty  dour  at  first,  but  I  managed 
to  get  round  her,  and  we  got  kind  of  chummy.  After- 
wards, she  and  I  used  to  go  for  walks  together  at  the 
meal  hour. 

She  was  a  very  passionate  girl,  with  a  strong  hanker- 
ing after  a  gay  life.  Our  walk  generally  led  us  to  the 
moor,  which  was  near  the  mill.  I  liked  the  solitude, 
after  the  deafening  roar  of  the  machinery.  Lizzie,  as 
my  friend's  name  was,  seemed  indifferent  to  it.  Her 
thoughts  were  too  much  taken  up  with  how  she  could 
have  a  good  time.  I  did  not  like  her  explanation  of 
how  she  would  enjoy  life.  I  wondered  greatly  if  she 
really  meant  what  she  said,  or  if  it  was  only  for  the 
sake  of  talking. 

We  never  came  back  until  the  last  whistle  blew.  If 
we  were  not  in  then,  the  big  gate  was  shut.  We  had  to 
go  through  a  little  door,  take  our  check  from  the  wall, 
and  give  it  to  the  gateman.  We  were  fined  a  penny  for 
being  late. 

A  great  number  of  the  girls  were  always  late.  There 
was  generally  a  crowd  of  the  flat  girls  running  at  the 
last  minute.  The  gateman,  an-  ill  natured  old  man, 
would  begin  to  draw  the  big  gate  over  before  the  last 
whistle  was  finished.  He  would  manage  it  almost  shut. 
With  a  wild  yell,  the  flat  girls  would  make  a  rush  for  it. 
The  old  man  would  shove  with  all  his  might.  It  was 
no  use,  with  perhaps  a  hundred  girls  forcing  it  open. 
He  would  be  almost  knocked  off  his  feet,  the  gate  would 
be  thrown  back,  and  in  they  would  surge  with  wild 
yells  of  derision. 


I  LEAVE  MY  HOME  145 

Lizzie  and  I  usually  waited  for  this.  We  enjoyed 
the  scramble  and  pushed  and  yelled  with  the  rest. 

At  this  time  Jack  bought  a  mandoline.  I  tried  it  and 
liked  the  sweet,  fairy-like  notes.  I  began  to  practise  it  a 
little  every  night.  I  always  sat  in  the  big  room  in  the 
dark.  My  grandmother  could  not  bear  the  sound 
of  it. 

"That's  no  music  at  all,"  she  would  say.  "I  would 
rather  hear  a  rattle  on  an'  oul'  tin  can.  For  any  sake 
throw  it  out  yer  han'  an'  no  deeve  us." 

The  only  thing  she  could  understand  was  the  "Pro- 
testant Boys"  banged  with  all  my  might  on  the  piano. 
Then  she  would  pull  up  her  skirts  and  jig  round  the 
room,  crying  "Hooch"  and  singing: 

Fleeter  flatter,  holy  water,  christen  the  papishes  every  one, 
If  that  won't  do,  we'll  cut  them  in  two,  and  the  Protestant 
Boys  shall  carry  the  drum. 

I  got  at  last  that  nothing  would  induce  me  to  play  it. 
We  all  hated  it  except  my  grandparents. 

I  don't  know  why,  but  my  grandfather  began  to  get 
very  cross  if  Meg  or  I  wanted  out  on  a  Saturday  night. 
Each  time  he  got  worse.  Then  he  said  we  would  have 
to  be  in  at  eight  o'clock,  or  not  get  out  at  all. 

It  was  pretty  hard  to  be  working  and  get  no  liberty. 
Jack  was  very  angry  at  the  way  we  were  kept  down 
and  said  we  were  fools  to  stand  it.  He  had  not  much 
pleasure  either.  He  was  going  to  be  married  and  my 
grandparents  were  mad  at  him.  He  said  if  his  home 
had  been  happy,  he  would  not  have  wanted  to 
leave  it. 

One  Saturday  we  stayed  out  until  ten.    Ann  was  with 


146         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

us.  She  was  seldom  out,  but  she  had  wanted  to  see  the 
shop  windows  in  the  town.  When  we  arrived  home, 
we  knocked  at  the  door,  then  stood  in  fear  and  trem- 
bling. We  heard  my  grandfather's  footstep  in  the  lobby ; 
then  the  door  opened. 

It  happened  that  Ann  was  nearest.  My  grandfather 
caught  her  viciously  by  the  hair,  and  pulled  her  into 
the  lobby.  Meg  and  I  managed  to  rush  past  him.  He 
followed  us  into  the  room.  What  dreadful  names  we 
were  called ! 

He  told  us  if  it  happened  again  he  would  throw  us 
out  of  the  window  into  the  street.  Then,  with  a  final 
curse,  he  returned  to  the  kitchen.  We  sat  trembling, 
Meg  and  Ann  began  to  cry  silently  and  hopelessly.  I 
sat  and  stared  out  of  the  window  into  the  darkness, 
my  heart  filled  with  a  terrible  despair.  We  sat  for 
an  hour  thus.  Poor  Ann.  To  think  he  could  say  such 
things  to  her,  who  had  suffered  so  much  I 

I  managed  to  get  a  little  pleasure  through  it  all 
though.  Jack  had  a  great  aptitude  for  picking  up 
music.  I  taught  him  the  notes,  and  very  soon  he  could 
read  it  fairly  well.  The  time  seemed  to  come  natural 
to  him.  He  inspired  me  to  practise  too.  Soon  we  could 
play  some  jigs  and  reels  together  fairly  well,  he  playing 
the  mandoline  as  an  accompaniment  to  the  piano.  He 
had  bought  a  mandoline  tutor.  Our  playing  was  cer- 
tainly very  amateurish,  but  it  gave  us  a  few  happy 
hours.  Meg  and  Ann  enjoyed  it,  and  my  grandparents 
made  no  objection. 

I  took  a  fancy  to  learn  the  mandoline.  I  told  Jack. 
He  said  he  would  pay  half  of  a  quarter's  lessons,  if  I 
could  save  up  the  other  half.  I  was  delighted,  and  be- 


I  LEAVE  MY  HOME  147 

gan  to  wonder  who  I  would  get  for  a  teacher.  Jack 
thought  if  I  went  to  the  town,  I  might  get  a  better 
teacher.  He  offered  to  pay  my  car.  One  day,  at  the 
meal  hour,  I  made  arrangements  with  a  lady  in  the 
town.  I  was  to  get  a  lesson  one  night  a  week. 

The  first  night,  when  I  was  getting  ready,  my  grand- 
father asked  me  where  I  was  going.  I  told  him.  Jack 
was  in  at  the  time. 

"Ye've  damn't  big  need  o'  that,"  said  my  grand- 
father angrily,  drawing  down  his  brows.  "Where  the 
divil  are  ye  goin'  to  get  the  money?" 

"I'm  sure  you  don't  need  to  care,  as  long  as  we're 
not  asking  you,"  said  Jack,  with  some  heat.  "I'm  pay- 
ing for  her.  Is  it  any  harm?" 

My  grandfather  glared  at  Jack.  "Huh!"  he 
snarled.  "The  money's  plentiful  with  ye,  when  ye  can 
fling  it  away  on  such  damn't  nonsense." 

I  slipped  out,  thinking  that  would  be  all  that  would 
be  said  about  it.  The  following  week,  when  I  was 
going  for  my  lesson,  my  grandfather  glared  at  me,  but 
said  nothing.  The  third  time,  however,  I  thought 
from  the  look  on  his  face  that  there  was  trouble  brewing. 
I  felt  nervous,  as  Jack  was  not  in  to  take  my  part.  He 
had  gone  to  the  theatre  in  the  town.  Meg  and  I  would 
not  have  dared  to  say  anything.  My  grandmother  I 
knew,  had  egged  him  on  to  stop  me  going. 

Often,  when  they  had  gone  to  bed,  I  had  heard  her 
telling  him  awful  stories  about  us.  What  could  he  do 
but  believe  them?  I  could  not  understand  how  she 
could  say  such  things  of  her  own  family.  There  was 
not  one  word  of  truth  in  them,  but  I  think  she  really 
believed  them  to  be  true.  When  I  heard  the  murmur 


148         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

of  her  voice,  I  used  to  creep  to  the  kitchen  and  listen. 

I  was  washing  my  hands  at  the  sink,  when  I  heard 
my  grandfather  rising  from  his  chair. 

I  looked  round,  startled.  He  was  standing  before 
me,  a  look  of  terrible  anger  on  his  face. 

"It's  like  this,"  he  said  in  a  tense  voice,  "if  ye  go 
out  o'  this  house  the  night,  ye  don't  come  in  again. 
Ye  can  choose  whichever  ye  like.  It  makes  no  damn't 
odds  to  me." 

I  breathed  hard.  My  nerves  were  at  a  fearful  ten- 
sion. Meg  and  Ann  stared  at  me.  My  grandmother 
was  sitting  in  the  corner  at  the  fire  with  her  hands 
clasped  on  her  lap.  There  was  a  pathetic  look  on 
her  face. 

Suddenly  I  made  up  my  mind.  I  would  go.  Any- 
thing was  better  than  this  life  of  bondage.  I  said  noth- 
ing, but  walked  out  of  the  kitchen.  I  lit  the  candle  in 
the  room,  and  gathered  all  my  things  together  that  I 
could  find.  I  found  a  piece  of  paper,  and  a  bit  of 
string,  and  began  with  trembling  fingers  to  tie  them  up. 
Ann  came  in,  and  began  to  sob  beside  me.  She  pleaded 
with  me  not  to  go. 

"I  know  it  is  hard  to  stand  it,"  she  said  brokenly, 
"but  don't  go.  Maybe  Jack'll  make  it  right  when  he 


comes  in." 


Tears  blinded  me,  but  my  mind  was  made  up.  I  took 
my  parcel  in  one  hand,  and  my  mandoline  in  the  other, 
and  went  into  the  lobby.  When  I  was  passing  the 
kitchen  door  I  looked  in  and  said,  "I'm  away  then. 
Good-bye." 

My  grandfather  looked  startled,  but  he  only  said : 

"Very  well  then." 


I  LEAVE  MY  HOME  149 

Meg  and  my  grandmother  got  up  quickly,  and  came 
into  the  lobby.  My  grandmother's  lips  were  trembling. 

"Are  ye  goin'  away?"  she  asked  in  a  shaking  voice. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  and  held  out  my  hand. 

She  took  it  like  one  in  a  dream,  then  the  tears  started 
to  run  down  her  wrinkled  cheeks.  Ann  held  on  to  my 
hand,  sobs  shaking  her  fragile  body. 

"You're  quite  right,"  said  Meg  huskily,  making  an 
effort  to  speak  bravely.  "Wait  until  Jack  comes  down 
out  of  the  theatre.  He'll  advise  you  what  to  do.  Go 
to  Lizzie's  first,  and  leave  your  parcel.  I'll  see  you  in 
the  morning.  Be  sure  and  wait  for  Jack." 

I  couldn't  answer.  I  stumbled  out,  and  along  the  pas- 
sage. It  was  a  fearful  night  of  wind  and  rain.  I 
couldn't  think  of  going  into  a  car,  feeling  as  I  did,  so 
I  started  off  to  walk  to  the  town.  I  didn't  care  a  bit 
about  the  rain.  Before  I  had  gone  very  far,  I  was 
soaked  to  the  skin.  The  water  was  squelching  in  my 
shoes,  which  had  been  needing  mending  for  a  long  time. 
The  paper  on  my  parcel  got  soaked,  and  came  partly 
off.  I  had  to  carry  it  up  against  my  body  to  keep  the 
things  from  falling  out. 

When  I  reached  the  town,  I  took  all  the  back  ways. 
I  was  afraid  people  would  be  looking  at  me.  I  meant 
to  go  to  Lizzie's  mother,  who  stayed  at  the  far  end  of 
town,  and  ask  to  get  staying  the  night.  I  had  been  in 
the  house  several  times,  and  had  liked  her.  She  was  a 
nice,  kindly  old  Highland  woman.  When  I  got  there, 
she  was  very  sympathetic,  and  wanted  to  make  me  tea, 
but  I  wouldn't  let  her.  I  left  my  mandoline  and  parcel, 
and  hurried  out  to  wait  at  the  theatre  for  Jack.  Lizzie 
went  with  me. 


150         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

It  would  be  two  hours  before  the  play  was  over,  but 
there  was  the  chance  that  Jack  might  come  out  before 
it  finished,  so  I  stood  where  I  could  watch  the  door.  He 
did  not  come  out  until  the  end. 

He  was  very  much  concerned  when  I  told  him.  He 
was  wild  at  my  grandfather,  but  said  I  had  done  per- 
fectly right.  I  could  see  that  he  was  very  anxious 
about  me.  We  stood  in  a  passage  and  talked.  He  said 
to  Lizzie  that  he  was  very  grateful  to  her  mother  for 
being  so  kind  to  me.  The  next  day  was  Saturday,  so 
he  arranged  to  come  up  when  he  had  finished  his  work, 
and  try  to  get  me  lodgings. 

He  came  to  Lizzie's  next  afternoon,  and  I  went  out 
with  him  to  talk  it  over.  He  handed  me  half  a  sov- 
ereign to  buy  shoes.  I  bought  a  pair  and  put  them  on, 
and  carried  the  old  ones  in  a  parcel.  He  asked  me  if  I 
did  not  need  anything  else.  I  said  that  was  all  I  wanted. 
I  needed  lots  of  other  things,  but  did  not  like  to  take 
advantage  of  his  kindness. 

We  went  to  a  married  woman,  a  Mrs.  Grant,  whom 
we  knew  well,  to  see  if  I  could  get  lodging  with  her. 
She  was  delighted  to  have  me.  Her  husband  worked 
out  of  town  a  good  deal,  and  she  said  she  was  lonely, 
just  herself  and  children. 

When  that  was  arranged,  Jack  went  home ;  I  brought 
my  clothes  and  got  settled  in  my  lodgings. 

After  a  week  or  so,  I  thought  I  would  like  to  see 
Ann  and  my  grandmother.  Meg  said  she  would  watch 
for  me,  and  give  me  a  sign  if  my  grandfather  was  out. 
On  the  Saturday  I  went  down.  My  grandfather  was 
out,  so  in  I  went.  They  were  both  very  glad  to  see  me. 
Ann,  I  think,  never  took  her  eyes  off  my  face  the  whole 


I  LEAVE  MY  HOME  151' 

time.  After  that  I  managed  to  slip  in  pretty  often. 
They  always  hurried  to  make  me  some  tea.  I  was  glad 
of  it.  I  never  liked  to  eat  much  at  my  lodgings.  I  was 
so  afraid  I  got  more  than  I  paid  for.  One  day  when 
I  was  paying  a  flying  visit  home,  my  grandfather  came 
in.  He  looked  at  me  a  minute,  then  said  kindly,  "Well, 
how  are  ye  gettin'  on?" 

"Fine,"  I  answered,  feeling  embarrassed.  I  rose  to  go 
soon  after,  and  did  not  go  back  for  some  time  again. 

One  night  Jack  came  up  to  tell  me  that  he  was  going 
away  to  be  married.  His  intended  belonged  to  the 
North  of  Scotland.  He  had  offered  to  pay  Meg's  fare 
and  my  grandfather's,  but  they  would  not  go.  He  was 
very  vexed  at  having  to  go  alone.  He  gave  me  a  few 
shillings  to  help  pay  my  music  lessons,  which  I  was  still 
keeping  up. 

Most  days,  Meg  used  to  get  away  ten  minutes  earlier 
from  her  work.  It  allowed  her  to  catch  the  workmen's 
train,  and  saved  her  a  long  wait  at  the  station.  When 
anyone  wanted  out  before  the  time  for  stopping,  they 

had  to  ask  a  pass  from  Miss  C .  She  hated  giving 

passes,  but  seeing  that  Meg  had  to  catch  a  train,  she 
gave  it  to  her  readily  enough. 

Lizzie  and  I  used  to  wish  we  could  get  out  early. 
Sometimes  I  would  get  Lizzie  coaxed  to  go  to  Miss 

C and  ask  her  for  a  pass.  Out  she  would  go.  I 

would  watch  her  going  up  to  the  desk,  certain  she  would 
be  snubbed.  Back  she  would  come,  looking  wild. 

"Did  you  get  it?"  I  would  ask  eagerly. 

"Get  it?"  she  would  answer  bitterly.  "No,  and  fine 
you  knew  I  wouldn't.  Go  yourself  next  time." 

I  took  another  way  about  it  though.     The  gateman 


152         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

got  so  used  to  seeing  Meg  going  out,  that  he  stopped 
asking  her  for  a  pass.  Two  girls  going  out  just  got  one 
pass  between  them  sometimes.  I  got  Meg  to  give  me 
hers,  and  made  it  do  for  Lizzie  and  me.  We  did  not 
dare  risk  it  too  often. 

To  get  out  of  the  workroom  was  the  worst  part  of 
the  business.  We  had  to  crawl  under  the  tables  right 
from  the  back  of  the  room. 

One  day  Miss  C caught  me  crawling  out  from 

under  the  last  table.  I  pretended  I  was  picking  up  some- 
thing from  the  floor,  and  then  walked  solemnly  back  to 
my  machine.  Some  of  the  girls  laughed,  and  I  think 
she  must  have  suspected  something.  As  a  rule,  she  was 
generally  too  busy  with  her  books  to  notice  much,  but 
after  that  she  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  us.  We  never  got  a 
chance  to  get  away  early  again. 

I  began  to  have  a  terrible  tired  feeling  at  my  work. 
I  did  not  understand  what  was  the  matter  with  me. 
Gradually  I  got  worse.  My  work  was  simply  a  toil  to 
me.  We  stopped  at  six,  but  when  it  came  to  about  half 
past  four,  I  had  nearly  always  to  sit  down  at  my  ma- 
chine. The  pain  in  my  head  was  dreadful,  and  I  felt 
sick  and  ill. 

I  struggled  on,  never  dreaming  of  stopping  my  work. 
Soon  I  felt  it  a  toil  to  walk  to  the  end  of  the  room  for 
wool  when  I  needed  it.  I  could  not  be  bothered  making 
fun  with,  or  even  talking  to  the  other  girls.  I  wondered 
drearily  what  would  become  of  me  if  I  got  too  ill  to 
earn  my  own  living.  I  really  did  not  care  much.  I 
felt  I  would  not  mind  anything,  if  I  just  could  get  a 
long  rest. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

LOOKING  FOR  WORK 

With  labour  I  must  earn 

My  bread!  what  harm?  idleness  had  been  worse: 
Labour  will  sustain  me. 

MILTON. 

I  GOT  worse  every  day.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
Mrs.  Grant  advised  me  to  stop  my  work  for  a  little. 
I  did  so.  At  the  end  of  a  week  I  felt  a  little  better. 

When  I  returned  to  my  work,  my  brother  in  Glas- 
gow wrote  me,  asking  me  to  come  to  the  city  again, 
where  I  might  get  something  light  to  do.  I  thought  it 
over,  and  decided  to  go.  I  told  Mrs.  Grant  that  I  was 
going  away.  She  begged  me  not  to  go.  She  said  she 
had  liked  so  much  having  me  in  the  house,  she  would  be 
very  lonely  if  I  went  away.  She  offered  to  keep  me  a 
few  weeks  for  nothing,  until  I  got  well.  I  felt  very 
grateful,  but  could  not  think  of  accepting.  I  knew  she 
meant  it,  but  I  did  not  want  to  be  under  an  obligation  to 
anyone. 

Next  day  I  got  my  wages,  parcelled  up  my  things, 
and  off  I  went  that  night. 

The  following  morning,  I  set  off  on  my  search  for 
work  in  Glasgow.  None  of  my  brother's  girls  offered  to 
accompany  me.  I  would  have  liked  one  of  them  with 
me,  but  I  was  not  going  to  ask  them.  The  weather  was 
piercingly  cold.  The  ground  was  covered  with  snow, 

153 


154         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

and  a  biting  wind  blew,  which  penetrated  to  my  very 
marrow. 

I  thought  as  I  had  a  little  experience  in  a  tea-room, 
I  might  try  some  of  them.  I  went  into  a  few,  but  was 
told  curtly  that  they  did  not  want  anyone.  I  returned 
home  at  night,  unsuccessful.  The  following  day,  when 
I  was  looking  about,  I  came  to  a  large  biscuit  factory. 
I  screwed  up  my  courage  to  go  in  and  ask.  I  was  shown 
out  of  one  place  into  another,  until  I  reached  a  private 
office.  A  very  overbearing  looking  gentleman  sat  at  a 
desk  writing.  He  had  on  a  white  linen  coat  and  cap, 
and  wore  a  large  gold  signet  ring  on  his  little  finger. 

I  stood  patiently  waiting  until  it  should  please  him  to 
lift  his  head  and  look  at  me.  After  a  little  he  raised 
his  eyes  and  looked  me  over  as  if  I  were  some  objec- 
tionable kind  of  insect.  Having  finished  his  scrutiny, 
he  began  to  question  me — all  about  my  parents,  what 
they  did  for  a  living,  and  other  things.  I'm  sure  he 
asked  me  fifty  questions.  It  made  me  feel  like  a  crim- 
inal. I  wondered  how  I  could  have  had  the  audacity 
to  think  that  I,  with  my  pedigree,  was  worthy  even  of 
pasting  the  labels  on  his  biscuit  boxes.  When  he  had 
finished  with  me,  he  said  I  might  call  back  in  three 
weeks.  He  might,  or  he  might  not  have  something  for 
me.  I  did  not  breathe  freely  until  I  was  outside.  Not 
for  untold  gold  would  I  have  gone  back.  Even  now, 
I  feel  a  dislike  to  that  man.  Men  of  his  class  are  too 
common.  Give  them  a  little  authority,  and  they  be- 
come unbearable  to  those  under  them.  Surely  the  desire 
to  earn  an  honest  livelihood  by  humble  work  does  not 
degrade  one. 

I  felt  very  tired.     My  last  interview  had  taken  the 


LOOKING  FOR  WORK  155 

spirit  out  of  me  altogether.  I  walked  about  a  while 
longer,  but  had  not  the  heart  to  go  anywhere  else  that 
day. 

I  tried  every  day  for  a  week,  with  no  better  re- 
sults. 

I  would  leave  about  ten  in  the  morning,  and  go  back 
to  my  brother's  after  tea.  He  stayed  in  an  outlying 
district,  and  it  was  a  good  distance  for  me  to  walk.  I 
never  had  any  food  all  day.  I  had  two  shillings  in  my 
pocket,  but  I  was  afraid  to  spend  it.  I  bought  the 
Citizen  when  it  came  out,  and  looked  up  the  adver- 
tisements. Sometimes  I  have  walked  from  one  end  of 
the  city  to  the  other  after  situations.  How  I  envied 
the  girls  in  the  streets.  They  had  work,  and  a  home  to 
go  to.  I  had  thought  from  my  brother's  manner  the 
last  few  days  that  he  wanted  me  away.  They  had  want- 
ed me  up  for  a  purpose.  Nell  had  got  a  mandoline  and 
as  I  knew  how  to  play  it,  they  had  thought  I  might 
teach  her.  I  had  shown  her  all  I  knew,  and  they  wanted 
rid  of  me.  I  meant  that  they  should  be  rid  of  me  very 
soon.  I  had  never  intended  staying  long  with  them 
anyway. 

One  day  I  saw  an  advertisement  in  the  paper — girls 
wanted  for  a  large  tea-room.  I  went  to  the  place  at 
the  hour  appointed.  There  were  a  great  many  girls 
waiting.  The  shop  was  full,  and  there  was  a  long 
queue  standing  at  the  side  of  the  pavement.  They  all 
looked  like  city  girls,  and  were  very  smartly  dressed.  I 
knew  it  was  hopeless,  but  I  took  my  place  at  the  end  of 
the  line.  In  about  an  hour  my  turn  came. 

The  first  thing  the  manager  asked  me  was  if  I  had 
had  any  experience  in  city  tea-rooms.  I  said  no.  He 


156         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

said  he  was  sorry,  but  he  could  not  take  me  unless  I  had. 
I  turned  out. 

I  felt  so  benumbed  with  cold,  that  I  could  almost 
have  cried.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do,  or  where  to  go. 
I  walked  along  aimlessly,  until  I  reached  Glasgow 
Green.  I  had  never  been  in  the  People's  Palace,  so  I 
thought  I  might  rest  a  little  while  in  it.  The  door  was 
open  so  in  I  went. 

There  were  only  a  few  girls  about,  and,  at  the  fur- 
ther end  two  men.  I  did  not  take  much  notice  of  them. 
There  was  a  delicious  warmth  in  the  place.  I  sat  down 
on  one  of  the  benches  at  the  side,  and  gazed  with  de- 
light at  the  beautiful  tropical  plants  and  creepers  that 
festooned  the  place.  I  had  never  seen  such  plants  be- 
fore. To  me,  it  was  a  dream  garden.  With  a  sigh  of 
content  I  settled  down  on  my  seat.  I  thought  I  might 
give  myself  an  hour's  rest  anyway. 

After  a  little,  my  attention  became  attracted  to  the 
girls.  Two  of  them,  seated  together,  were  giggling 
loudly.  The  noise  jarred  on  me.  The  two  men  were 
talking  to  them,  and  they  were  all  looking  at  me,  a 
thing  which  annoyed  me  very  much.  Beyond  them,  an 
elderly,  well  dressed  lady  was  hovering  about,  appar- 
ently inspecting  the  plants. 

At  the  other  side,  two  girls  were  standing  together 
talking.  In  a  little  the  men  joined  them.  The  next  time 
I  looked,  the  lady  was  speaking  to  the  girls  the  men 
had  left.  She  seemed  to  be  very  serious,  but  the  girls 
were  not  paying  much  attention  to  her.  I  wondered 
greatly  what  she  could  be  saying  to  them. 

Soon  she  left  them  and  sauntered  my  way.  She  did 
not  come  directly,  but  examined  a  plant  here  and  there. 


LOOKING  FOR  WORK  157 

The  girls  watched  her  progress  with  interest.  At  last 
she  came  to  where  I  was  sitting. 

"Are  you  taking  a  rest?"  she  asked  with  a  smile. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  feeling  that  this  was  an  opening 
for  something  else. 

She  hesitated  a  minute,  then  she  said,  "Have  you  no 
home  to  go  to?" 

I  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  My  face  flushed  and 
a  wave  of  anger  swept  over  me.  Her  words  and  man- 
ner had  enlightened  me  at  once  as  to  what  her  business 
was.  The  girls  she  had  been  speaking  to  were  evidently 
bad-living,  and  she  had  been  making  a  futile  attempt  to 
turn  them  from  their  evil  ways.  What  angered  me  was 
that  she  had  taken  me  for  one  of  the  same  kind.  I'm 
no  good  at  snubbing  anyone  but  I  think  I  managed  it 
that  time.  With  a  murmured  apology  she  hurried 
away. 

When  she  had  gone  I  got  up  quickly  and  left  the 
place.  I  felt  sad  to  think  that  one  could  not  rest  for 
ten  minutes  in  a  beautiful  place  like  that  without  being 
humiliated.  I  felt  somehow  that  I  did  not  want  to  stay 
any  longer  in  Glasgow. 

I  knew  that  domestic  service  was  more  easily  got  than 
anything,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  I  would  go  the  next 
day  to  the  small  town  where  my  cousin  Mary  worked, 
and  put  my  name  in  a  Servants'  Registry.  The  train- 
fare  was  sixpence.  I  told  my  brother  what  I  meant  to 
do.  He  did  not  say  much.  I  also  told  them  about  the 
little  affair  in  the  People's  Palace. 

A  long  time  after,  I  heard  that  they  had  told  the 
story  at  home,  but  had  twisted  it  in  such  a  way  that 
made  it  appear  very  discreditable  to  me. 


158 


THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 


Next  morning  I  left  them.  Mary  was  quite  glad  to 
see  me.  I  told  her  my  plans.  She  said  the  Glasgow 
Registries  had  the  best  places.  I  had  only  a  shilling, 
and  I  would  need  that  to  pay  the  Registry  fee,  so  Mary 
lent  me  a  shilling  to  pay  my  return  fare  to  Glasgow. 
I  started  off  very  early  the  next  morning  to  try  again. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
IN  A  SERVANTS'  REGISTRY 

Of  the  poor 

Are  the  peers'  almoners,  else  would  die  crowds 
That  none  know  how  they  live,  how  life  in  them 
Still  feebly  lurks,  from  morn  to  ghastly  eve, 
From  eve  to  haggard  morn. 

ANON. 

IT  was  my  first  experience  of  a  Servants'  Registry, 
and  I  entered  the  dark,  gloomy  looking  office,  feeling 
extremely  nervous.  It  was  a  large  room.  The 
further  side,  opposite  the  door,  was  partitioned  in  the 
middle,  forming  two  open  compartments,  in  one  of 
which  the  ladies  interviewed  the  maids.  At  the  other 
side  of  the  partition  there  were  forms  for  the  maids 
to  sit. 

A  haughty  looking  young  lady,  with  eyeglasses,  sat  at 
a  desk  writing.  I  walked  over  to  her.  She  lifted  her 
head,  readjusted  her  glasses,  and  looked  me  over  from 
top  to  toe. 

"You  want  a  situation?"  she  inquired  frigidly. 

"Yes,"  I  answered  meekly. 

She  opened  a  ledger  and  took  up  a  pen. 

"Name,  please?"  she  asked. 

"Jean  Roy." 

"Ever  been  in  service  before?" 

"No." 

159 


160         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"You  won't  get  more  than  a  pound  a  month  to  begin 
with." 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  "And  I  don't  want  to  go  where 
there  is  a  large  family." 

"That  will  do.  You  will  see  some  ladies  when  they 
come  in.  Two  shillings,  please." 

I  started.  I  had  always  thought  a  shilling  was  the 
fee,  and  I  had  only  a  shilling  in  my  possession. 

"I'm  sorry,"  I  faltered,  "but  I've  only  a  shilling." 

"That  will  do,"  she  said  curtly.  "You  can  pay  me 
the  other  shilling  when  you  get  a  situation.  Sit  over 
there." 

She  indicated  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  to  where  the 
maids  were  sitting. 

I  went  over  and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  forms. 
There  were  four  occupants,  early  as  the  hour  was. 
They  looked  at  me  curiously.  After  a  time,  when  I 
felt  that  their  attention  had  begun  to  wander,  I,  in  my 
turn  studied  them. 

Next  me  sat  a  girl  with  a  heavy,  stupid  face.  She 
wore  a  faded  blue  costume,  the  skirt  of  which  was  all 
frayed  round  the  foot.  Straggling  ends  of  hair  hung 
down  over  her  jacket  at  the  back  of  her  neck.  High 
up  on  her  head  was  perched  a  small  black  satin  toque, 
evidently  the  discarded  property  of  a  former  mistress. 
It  made  her  look  so  funny  I  could  not  help  smiling  to 
myself. 

In  the  corner  sat  an  old  woman.  I'm  sure  she  would 
be  about  sixty.  She  was  dressed  in  black,  poorly,  but 
so  neat  and  clean.  Her  cotton  gloves  were  carefully 
darned,  and  the  white  lace  scarf  tied  in  a  bow  under 
her  chin  was  like  snow.  She  had  such  a  sad,  patient 


IN  A  SERVANTS'  REGISTRY  161 

look  on  her  kind  old  face,  that  my  heart  warmed  to  her 
at  once. 

Sitting  opposite  was  a  girl  about  twenty,  rather  pretty 
but  with  a  discontented  expression,  and  very  stylishly 
dressed.  I  wondered  what  kind  of  situation  she  was 
after.  Beside  her  sat  a  plump,  middle  aged  woman, 
well  dressed  too,  but  rather  common  like.  There  was  a 
very  determined,  wide  awake  look  about  her. 

A  lady  entered  the  office.  The  young  lady  at  the 
desk  looked  up,  all  smiles,  and  they  engaged  in  con- 
versation. What  a  difference  from  the  way  she  had 
spoken  to  me,  and  the  servants  paid  the  same  fee  as  the 
ladies. 

Maids  and  ladies  now  began  to  arrive  quickly.  Our 
forms  were  almost  full.  Tongues  were  loosened. 

"Oh  no,"  I  heard  the  stylishly  dressed  girl  say  to  the 
stout  woman.  "I  simply  couldn't  put  up  with  it  any 
longer.  Father  got  simply  unbearable.  We  could  get 
no  freedom  at  all.  I'm  trying  to  get  a  situation  for  my 
sister  and  myself.  We  want  to  be  together." 

"Indeed  it's  no'  easy  to  put  up  with  your  folk  some- 
times," said  the  stout  woman,  keeping  her  eye  on  the 
outer  room.  "There's  plenty  of  places  the  now.  This 
is  the  best  time  to  get  a  good  one.  I'm  a  cook.  I  left 
my  last  place  for  bigger  wages.  Look  at  him,"  she 
exclaimed  excitedly  as  a  gentleman  walked  over  to  the 
desk.  "My  word,  it'll  be  a  pity  of  the  one  that  gets 
his  place.  I  was  there  two  months,  an'  it  was  fair  star- 
vation. Catch  me  goin'  back.". 

"Losh,  I  got  rare  meat  in  my  last  place,"  said  the 
stupid  looking  girl  next  me.  "Hame-made  jeely  to 
your  tea  every  night,  and  on  Setterday  night  the  mistress 


162         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

gave  me  a  pastry,  and  a  lump  of  toffee.    It's  no'  every 
place  you'll  get  that." 

"What  made  ye  lave  it  for  then?"  asked  an  Irish 
girl  sarcastically. 

"There  was  that  many  weans  I  got  fed  up  nursin' 
them,"  answered  the  stupid  girl. 

The  gentleman  glanced  over  at  us,  then  said  some- 
thing to  the  young  lady.  She  nodded  over  to  the  cook 
who  rose,  and  after  speaking  to  the  gentleman  for  a 
few  minutes,  disappeared  with  him  behind  the  par- 
tition. 

"Are  you  looking  for  a  place?"  I  asked  the  old 
woman  sitting  in  the  corner. 

"Ay,  my  dear,"  she  answered,  "but  it's  no'  easy  to 
get  one.  I  was  here  all  day  yesterday.  They  all  seem 
to  think  I'm  no'  able  to  work  much." 

She  opened  her  bag,  and  took  out  two  biscuits 
wrapped  in  paper. 

"Will  you  take  one  of  these?"  she  asked  me.  "I 
don't  think  you've  brought  a  piece." 

I  thanked  her,  but  said  I  was  not  hungry.  I  was  very 
hungry,  but  had  not  the  heart  to  take  it  from  the  poor 
old  soul. 

The  others  now  began  to  take  out  pieces  from  their 
bags  and  pockets. 

"It's  a  pity  you  have  to  look  for  work  at  your  age," 
I  said.  "Have  you  nobody  of  your  own?" 

Her  lips  trembled. 

"I  had  a  son,"  she  answered.  "If  he  had  been  living 
I  would  never  have  wanted.  He's  dead  two  years.  I'm 
all  alone  now,"  she  tried  bravely  to  smile.  Poor, 
lonely  old  soul. 


IN  A  SERVANTS'  REGISTRY  163 

Here  the  cook  returned,  all  smiles. 

"I'm  goin'  with  him,"  she  informed  us.  "I've  to 
get  four  shillings  a  month  more  than  I  had  before." 

"But  you  said  you  was  starved,"  said  the  stupid 
girl. 

"Oh,  his  housekeeper's  away  now,"  she  answered 
airily.  "I'll  be  at  the  lug  of  the  law  myself,  and,"  she 
winked  slily  at  the  stupid  girl,  "maybe  I'll  get  pastry 
every  day.  Well,  ta  ta,  and  see  and  be  good." 

With  a  nod  and  a  parting  wave  of  her  hand  she  was 
gone.  The  stupid  girl  sat  gaping. 

"Losh,  she's  a  fly  one,"  she  remarked. 

"Shure  you've  got  to  be  fly,"  snapped  the  Irish  girl, 
who  was  quickly  consuming  a  roll  and  jam.  "The  last 
missis  I  had  was  a  warmer,  but  I  fixed  her."  She  took 
a  huge  bite  of  her  roll,  chewed  and  swallowed  it,  then 
went  on.  "My  month  wasn't  up  for  three  days  yet  but 
last  night  I  told  her  me  mother  was  badly,  an'  asked 
her  to  give  me  my  pay,  as  they  were  ill-off  for  money, 
an'  let  me  take  a  run  home.  She  handed  me  the  wages 
an'  said  I  was  not  to  stay  long.  I  had  me  box  at 
the  back,  an'  me  boy  was  waitin'  for  me,  so  here  I 
am." 

She  put  the  last  bit  of  roll  in  her  mouth,  licked  her 
fingers,  and  looked  round  for  approval. 

"But  you  were  wrong  to  deceive  her,"  said  the  old 
woman  reprovingly. 

"And  you'll  no'  get  a  character,"  said  the  stupid 
girl. 

"Character,"  returned  the  Irish  girl  scornfully. 
"Faith,  you're  a  green  one.  Shure  I  don't  need  one. 
I'll  say  I  niver  was  in  service  before." 


164         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

The  young  lady  at  the  desk  beckoned  to  me.  I  rose 
and  went  over. 

"Lady  wants  to  see  you,"  she  said,  nodding  towards 
a  pleasant  looking  lady  seated  at  a  little  table. 

I  walked  across  to  her.  She  pointed  to  a  vacant 
chair,  and  told  me  to  sit  down.  I  did  so,  feeling  very 
self-conscious. 

"You  are  looking  for  a  situation?"  she  asked  pleas- 
antly. 

She  was  very  pretty,  with  fluffy  fair  hair  and  nice 
frank  eyes.  I  liked  her  at  once. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "I  want  a  light  place." 

She  smiled.  "Well,"  she  said,  "I  don't  think  you 
would  find  my  work  heavy.  I  do  a  good  deal  myself. 
You'd  have  to  take  baby  out  in  his  pram  a  little  every 
afternoon.  Have  you  been  in  service  before?" 

"No,"  I  replied. 

"That  really  does  not  matter,"  she  said.  "I  think 
we  would  get  on  nicely.  My  maid  won't  be  leaving 
for  three  weeks.  Could  you  come  then?" 

I  felt  greatly  disappointed.  I  could  not  possibly  do 
without  work  for  three  weeks. 

"Oh  no,"  I  answered,  "I  couldn't  wait  until  then." 

"What  a  pity,"  she  said  regretfully.  "I  would  have 
liked  you  so  much.  Have  you  no  friends  you  could 
go  to? 

"I'm  sorry  I  haven't,"  I  replied. 

"Oh  well,  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped,"  she  said  in 
a  disappointed  tone. 

I  rose  to  my  feet.    The  interview  was  at  an  end. 

I  returned  to  my  companions  feeling  very  much 
depressed.  I  would  have  gone  almost  anywhere  rather 


IN  A  SERVANTS'  REGISTRY  165 

than  sit  there  waiting.  They  all  looked  at  me  but 
did  not  ask  any  questions,  and  I  was  in  no  mood  for 
talking.  I  had  barely  sat  down,  when  I  was  again 
called  out.  This  time,  it  was  a  stout,  red  cheeked 
young  lady.  I  did  not  like  the  look  of  her  at  all.  I 
had  my  mind  made  up  before  she  even  spoke  to  me 
that  I  was  not  going  to  engage  with  her. 

"Would  you  like  to  come  to  the  country?"  she  began 
immediately.  "There  are  nine  of  us,  but  I  make  all  the 
beds  myself,  and  do  most  of  the  cooking.  I'm  sure 
you  would  find  it  a  good  place.  I  suppose  you  can 
make  porridge.  You  would  get  out  every  Thursday, 
and  every  Sunday  evening  from  six  until  nine.  It 
would  be  a  good  home  for  you.  You  would  have  to 
sleep  in  the  kitchen,  but  I  don't  suppose  you  would  mind 
that.  Six  o'clock  is  the  hour  for  rising.  There  would 
be  nine  pairs  of  boots  to  clean,  and  of  course  if  you 
cared  to  rise  a  little  earlier  you  could  please  yourself. 
We  would  like  you  soon.  When  could  you  come?" 

"I'm  sorry,"  I  answered,  "but  I'm  afraid  I  can't  come 
at  all." 

"Why?"  She  looked  astonished.  "Surely  you  can 
make  porridge.  It  would  be  a  home  for  you." 

"I  wouldn't  care  to  come,"  I  said.  "Good  after- 
noon," and  I  turned  away  and  left  her. 

"Really,  I  don't  know  what  servants  are  coming 
to,"  I  heard  her  exclaim  angrily  to  the  young  lady  at 
the  desk.  They  both  talked  a  little,  then  the  red 
cheeked  person  sat  down  to  await  the  next  victim. 

"Shure  she's  here  ivery  month  for  a  girl,"  said  the 
Irish  maid,  indicating  with  her  thumb  my  late  inter- 
viewer. "I  knew  a  girl  that  was  there.  Faith,  she 


166         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

gave  them  their  character.  Half  past  five  ivery  blessed 
mornin',  an'  niver  off  yer  feet  'till  eleven  at  night,  an' 
hungered  forbye.  I'd  see  them  at  the  divil  before  I'd 
slave  to  the  likes  of  them.  Empty  nothin's,  that  they 


are." 


She  took  out  a  dirty  handkerchief,  and  blew  her  nose 
violently.  It  was  nearing  the  closing  hour.  With  the 
exception  of  the  Irish  girl,  the  old  woman  and  the  stupid 
looking  girl,  the  others  had  all  gone.  Some  had  engaged 
for  situations,  and  others  had  got  tired  of  waiting  and 
left.  The  last  of  the  ladies  had  departed.  I  got  up, 
said  good-night  to  the  others  (the  old  woman  kindly 
hoped  I  would  have  better  luck  tomorrow)  and  moved 
towards  the  desk. 

The  young  lady  looked  up,  a  bored  expression  on  her 
face. 

"You  can  come  again  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock,"  she 
said,  "and  look  here,  Jean,  you  might  wear  your  hair 
tighter  back  off  your  face.  You  can  wear  it  as  you 
please  on  your  nights  off.  That  will  do.  Ten  o'clock 
to-morrow." 

She  bent  her  head  over  her  desk  again.  I  was  dis- 
missed. 

Burning  rage  took  possession  of  me.  What  business 
had  she  with  my  hair?  Her  own  was  fluffed  all  round 
her  face,  and  it  was  like  the  stuffing  of  a  chair.  I 
thought  of  that  shilling  of  mine  she  had  in  her  desk, 
said  nothing,  and  walked  out. 

When  I  was  stepping  into  the  train  I  thought  of  a 
cutting  answer  that  I  certainly  ought  to  have  made  her. 


CHAPTER  XX 

I  BECOME  BARMAID 

Oh  that  men  should  put  an  enemy  in 
Their  mouths,  to  steal  away  their  brains;  that  we 
Should,  with  joy,  pleasance,  revel,  and  applause. 
Transform  ourselves  to  beasts! 

SHAKESPEARE. 

THAT  evening,  when  I  got  to  my  cousin's,  she  told 
me  that  she  had  heard  of  a  baker's  shop  in  Paisley,  that 
often  had  places  for  girls,  and  did  not  take  a  fee. 

Next  morning,  I  walked  there,  three  miles  it  was,  and 
found  the  baker's  shop.  They  gave  me  the  name  and 
address  of  a  lady  who  wanted  a  maid.  I  found  the 
district  I  had  to  go  to  was  out  of  Paisley  altogether. 
I  walked  on  and  on,  I'm  sure  for  miles.  At  last  I 
found  it.  It  was  a  large  house  in  a  quiet  road,  which 
seemed  to  lead  to  the  open  country.  How  I  hoped  I 
would  suit,  I  liked  so  much  the  quietness  and  solitude 
of  the  place.  I  walked  up  the  path  and  rang  the  bell. 
The  door  was  opened  by  a  prim  looking  old  lady. 
When  I  told  her  what  I  wanted  she  said  at  once  that  I 
would  not  suit. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "there  is  a  good  deal  of  work, 
and  I  need  a  strong  girl.  You  look  rather  delicate. 
Don't  you  think  you  would  be  better  to  try  and  get  into 
a  shop?" 

"It  isn't  so  easy  to  get  into  a  shop,"  I  answered. 

167 


168         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

She  seemed  to  be  sorry,  but  as  she  evidently  did  not 
think  me  strong  enough,  there  was  nothing  further  to 
be  said. 

With  disappointment  in  my  heart,  I  retraced  my 
steps  back  along  the  road  I  had  come.  When  I  reached 
the  baker's  shop  they  offered  me  another  address,  but. 
I  did  not  take  it.  I  was  far  too  tired  to  go  anywhere 
else  that  day. 

That  night,  a  woman  who  worked  beside  Mary  in 
the  mill,  came  in  to  see  her.  Mary  told  her  I  was 
looking  for  a  place.  She  said  that  Willie  Jardine,  the 
publican  across  the  square,  was  wanting  a  girl. 

"But  I  wouldn't  go  there  if  I  was  you,"  she  said. 
"There's  a  houseful  of  weans,  and  you'd  be  run  off 
your  feet.  Forbye,  I  don't  think  Willie's  the  clean 
tattie  himself." 

"How?"  asked  Mary.  "Did  you  ever  hear  any- 
thing about  him?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said.  "I  never  did,  but  I've  just  that 
kind  of  idea." 

No  more  was  said  at  the  time,  but  after  she  had 
gone  away  I  said  to  Mary  that  I  thought  I  might  try 
it.  I  knew  the  shop  well  enough.  It  was  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  Square,  straight  across  from  Mary's 
house,  and  was  of  very  old  standing.  My  grandfather 
had  frequented  it  for  years,  every  time  he  had  come 
up  to  see  my  cousin's  mother  when  she  was  alive.  It 
had  passed  from  one  generation  to  another.  Mary 
thought  there  would  be  no  harm  in  trying,  so  off  I 
went. 

The  Jardines  stayed  above  the  shop,  so  I  went  up 
the  stair.  Mrs.  Jardine  I  found  was  a  very  pleasant 


I  BECOME  BARMAID  169 

woman.  I  told  her  my  errand.  She  asked  me  in  at 
once,  and  took  me  through  the  kitchen  into  the  parlour. 
She  seemed  quite  pleased  with  me,  and  we  soon  came  to 
terms.  I  was  to  begin  the  next  morning.  My  duties 
were  to  work  in  the  house,  and  help  in  the  shop  a  little, 
to  relieve  Mr.  Jardine. 

I  went  over  after  breakfast  next  day.  I  found  them 
very  nice  people,  homely  and  plain.  The  thought  of 
Mr.  Jardine  being  not  just  the  "clean  tattie"  troubled 
me  a  little.  I  found,  however,  that  it  was  a  wicked 
slur  on  his  character.  All  the  time  I  was  there,  I 
found  him  to  be  kind  and  courteous  and  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman. Afterwards,  I  found  out  that  the  woman  had 
not  wanted  me  to  go  there,  as  she  was  in  the  habit  of 
slipping  in  for  a  dram  on  the  sly.  She  had  thought  I 
would  hear  about  the  place  anyway  or  she  would  never 
have  mentioned  it. 

I  was  greatly  interested  in  the  house.  I  have  never 
seen  another  like  it.  It  was  about  a  hundred  and  forty 
years  old.  The  man  who  built  it  must  have  been  an 
exceptionally  kind  hearted  one.  Every  time  I  looked, 
out  of  the  kitchen  window,  I  had  proof  of  it  before  me. 

Cut  out  on  the  wall,  so  near  I  could  touch  it  with  my 
hand,  was  a  little  archway,  leading  to  a  small  aperture. 
At  the  foot  of  the  arch  was  a  kind  of  balcony,  with  the 
words  cut  on  the  stone,  "Sparrows'  home — Cats  not  in- 
vited." On  several  of  the  chimneys  was  a  man's  face, 
with  the  mouth  wide  open  that  the  birds  might  build 
in  it.  On  the  wall  at  the  back,  were  the  figures  of 
Adam  and  Eve,  who,  being  low  down,  they  had  got 
somewhat  broken  away. 

Who,  when  building  a  house  nowadays,  would  ever 


170         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

dream  of  providing  apartments  for  the  little  feathered 
tribe. 

Mr.  Jardine  was  very  much  attached  to  his  house. 
He  was  a  great  pigeon  fancier,  and  kept  a  large  stock 
in  a  loft  behind  the  shop. 

The  second  day  I  was  there,  he  asked  me  to  go  down 
to  the  shop  for  ten  minutes.  I  thought  it  would  be  a 
fine  thing  to  serve  in  a  bar,  so  was  delighted  to  go.  I 
found  it  a  frightfully  cold  place.  It  was  a  stone  floor 
behind  the  counter.  Being  a  corner  shop,  with  a  door 
in  the  front,  and  one  in  the  side,  there  was  a  continual 
draught  through  the  place.  Mr.  Jardine  had  instructed 
me  before  he  went  out  about  the  different  drinks,  and 
the  measures. 

I  had  not  been  long  in,  when  I  heard  a  tapping  behind 
me.  I  looked  round,  startled.  The  tapping  continued. 
At  the  end  of  the  counter  was  a  little  window,  with  a 
wooden  shutter,  which  was  snibbed.  I  discovered  that 
the  tapping  came  from  there,  so  unsnibbed  it,  and 
pushed  back  the  shutter.  It  was  a  tiny  little  room,  with 
no  light  in  it,  but  what  came  from  the  bar,  and  was 
called  "Family  Department."  It  was  impossible  to  see 
the  face  of  anyone  standing  within.  The  hand  which 
was  held  out  was  all  that  was  visible. 

"Gie's  hauf  a  gless  o'  yer  best  Irish,"  said  a  hoarse 
voice. 

"Irish  what?"  I  asked,  in  a  business  like  tone,  feeling 
very  important. 

"Naw,  it's  no'  Irish  whit,  or  Irish  stew  either,  ye  fat 
heidit  sowl  that  ye  are,"  growled  the  voice.  "Gie's  a 
hauf  gless  o'  yer  best  Irish  whisky,  an'  look  damn't 
smert  aboot  it." 


I  BECOME  BARMAID  171 

A  dirty  fist  banged  impatiently  on  the  little  ledge  of 
the  window. 

Feeling  somewhat  taken  down,  I  turned  round  to 
look  for  the  Irish  whisky.  The  different  blends  were 
there  right  enough  but  Mr.  Jardine  had  forgotten  to 
say  which  was  Irish.  There  was  a  glass  barrel,  which 
held  about  a  gallon.  I  thought  that  must  be  it.  I 
went  towards  it  hesitatingly. 

"Ay,  that's  it,"  said  the  man  eagerly.  "That's  the 
yin  I  always  get  it  oot  oV 

"You  don't  need  to  tell  me,"  I  answered  stiffly.  "I 
know  Irish  whisky  when  I  see  it." 

"Ye  do  indeed,"  returned  the  man,  with  a  chuckle. 
"Yer  a  smert  divil  too." 

He  grabbed  the  glass  out  of  my  hand,  drank  it  off, 
and  smacked  his  lips  noisily.  The  hand  returned  me 
the  empty  glass,  banged  down  three  halfpence,  then  dis- 
appeared. 

My  next  customer  was  a  very  evil  looking  tramp. 
He  came  in  at  the  front  door,  so  I  had  a  good  view  of 
him,  which  however,  did  not  reassure  me.  He  took 
three  empty  bottles  out  of  his  pocket,  and  asked  for  a 
half  of  the  sixpenny  whisky.  I  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do. 
Mr.  Jardine  had  not  given  me  any  information  about 
empty  bottles. 

"I  can't  take  empty  bottles,"  I  said,  trying  to  speak 
firmly. 

The  man  edged  down  to  the  end  of  the  counter, 
where  it  turned  into  the  bar,  eyeing  me  evilly  all  the 
time.  I  got  terribly  frightened  he  would  come  behind, 
and  rob  the  till. 

"All  right,"  I  said  quickly,  "I'll  give  it  this  time." 


172         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  poured  out  a  generous  half  glass  from  the  glass 
barrel.  He  drank  it  without  a  word,  then  went  out. 

The  ten  minutes  lengthened  into  two  hours,  and  still 
Mr.  Jardine  had  not  returned.  At  the  end  of  another 
half  hour,  he  did  come  however.  I  found  out  after- 
wards that  his  ten  minutes  were  very  elastic,  and  might 
stretch  to  anything. 

I  told  him  that  I  had  served  two  half  glasses  out  of 
the  glass  barrel,  one  for  Irish  whisky  at  three  halfpence, 
and  the  other  for  three  empty  bottles.  He  said  the 
whisky  in  the  glass  barrel  was  special  and  the  most  ex- 
pensive whisky  in  the  shop.  As  for  empty  bottles,  the 
place  was  simply  choked  with  them.  I  suppose  he  saw 
I  looked  crestfallen.  He  told  me  not  to  worry  about  it, 
as  it  was  his  fault  for  not  telling  me. 

After  that  I  managed  better,  and  was  a  great  deal  in 
the  shop.  One  thing  always  worried  me  though.  Mr. 
Jardine  had  impressed  on  me  never  to  give  drink  to  any- 
one that  was  the  worse  of  it.  I  never  could  discrimi- 
nate. Several  times  I  gave  drink  to  men  that  were  sim- 
ply dead  drunk.  They  had  walked  in  straight,  and 
asked  for  it  quietly,  so  I  had  thought  they  were  all  right. 
It  gave  Mr.  Jardine  a  good  deal  ot  worry,  especially  as 
one  of  them  fell  on  the  floor,  after  drinking  what  I  had 
given  him,  and  could  not  move  hand  or  foot.  He  had 
to  be  carried  into  a  back  room,  in  case  the  police  might 
see  him,  and  left  there  until  he  got  sober. 

I  was  so  worried  about  it,  that  I  made  up  my  mind  I 
would  be  very  careful  in  future.  Soon  after,  I  roused 
a  bitter  enmity  against  myself,  by  refusing  to  give  a 
man  a  drink  who  was  perfectly  sober. 

He  had  slipped  on  a  piece  of  orange  skin  on  the 


I  BECOME  BARMAID  173 

floor,  and  I,  always  on  the  look  out,  had  taken  it  for  an 
outward  and  visible  sign  of  an  inward  and  well  spirited 
place. 

Mr.  Jardine  was  the  most  unsuspicious  man  I  ever 
came  across.  There  was  money  lying  about  in  every 
odd  corner — scattered  about  the  shelves  and  every- 
where. 

We  sometimes  had  a  "Pay  off"  in  the  room  up  the 
stair  which  was  entered  through  the  shop.  There  was 
a  large,  engineering  work  in  the  town.  As  soon  as  an 
apprentice's  time  was  served,  he  had  to  stand  a  treat  to 
his  fellow  workers.  It  was  called  a  "Pay  off". 

It  amused  me  greatly  to  see  the  young  men  coming 
in.  Some  of  them  said  Good  Evening  to  me  quietly. 
Others  were  too  shy  to  speak  at  all,  and  just  nodded. 
What  a  difference  when  they  came  down  the  stair  again. 
One  would  not  have  known  them  for  the  same.  The 
shyness  had  disappeared.  Maudlin  sentiment  had  taken 
its  place.  They  used  to  hold  on  to  the  counter,  and  talk 
silly  love  to  me.  I  felt  vexed  for  them.  Those  poor 
boys,  it  was  a  sorry  thing  they  called  pleasure.  Often 
I  was  asked  out  for  walks.  I  always  promised  I  would 
go.  I  would  sit  at  Mary's  window  across  the  Square, 
and  watch  them  waiting  for  me.  It  amused  me  to  see 
how  long  they  would  wait.  I  did  not  want  them  at  all. 

The  time  of  the  holidays  came  round.  The  shows 
and  other  amusements  began  to  arrive  on  the  Square. 
It  made  us  so  terribly  busy.  I  was  in  the  shop  all  day. 
The  din  outside  was  so  deafening,  that  we  could  scarce- 
ly hear  each  other  speaking.  The  show  people  all  came 
into  our  shop.  What  queer  mixtures  they  asked  for. 
Half  a  glass  of  port  wine  mixed  with  a  bottle  of  ginger 


174         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

was    one    favourite.      Lime    juice    and    ginger    an- 
other. 

After  the  shop  was  shut  at  ten,  another  girl  and  I 
used  to  go  out  to  see  the  fun.  We  would  stay  on  the 
switchback  for  nearly  half  an  hour.  The  men  knew  me 
by  coming  into  the  shop,  and  would  never  take  any 
money  from  us,  no  matter  how  long  we  stayed  on. 

The  last  night  of  the  Fair,  Saturday,  was  a  terror. 
It  was  perfect  pandemonium  in  the  shop.  There  was  a 
dense  mass  on  the  outside  of  the  bar  waiting  to  be 
served.  Mrs.  Jardine  came  down  to  give  us  a  hand. 
Mr.  Jardine  was  terribly  excited.  He  would  always 
say  to  me,  "Now,  Jenny,  don't  get  excited.  Just  let 
them  take  their  time,  or  go  out  without  being  served." 

It  made  me  smile,  because  he  was  far  worse  than  me. 
What  a  smashing  of  glasses  there  was.  Once  he 
knocked  over  a  five  gill  bottle  of  whisky.  I  wanted  to 
save  what  was  left  in  the  bottle,  but  he  would  not  let  me 
in  case  I  would  cut  my  fingers.  The  bells  kept  ringing 
in  the  rooms,  driving  us  nearly  distracted.  There  was 
as  much  liquor  spilled  behind  the  counter  as  would  have 
sailed  a  child's  boat. 

I  was  kept  busy  at  the  "Family  Department".  There 
was  a  continual  stream  of  hands  holding  out  empty  bot- 
tles to  me,  which,  when  I  filled  and  returned,  disap- 
peared like  lightning.  It  was  a  good  thing  I  could  not 
see  the  faces  belonging  to  the  hands.  Very  often,  when 
I  was  emptying  the  measure  into  the  bottle,  Mr.  or  Mrs. 
Jardine  would  bang  up  against  me,  and  spill  some  on  the 
floor.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  get  it  filled  up  again. 
I  had  not  the  time,  besides,  I  could  not  always  get  to 
the  tap.  What  did  it  matter,  when  it  was  only  stuff 


I  BECOME  BARMAID  175 

that  would  harm  them  anyway?  I  was  really  doing 
them  a  good  turn.  If  it  had  been  milk  now,  or  some 
such  nourishing  beverage,  my  conscience  might  have 
troubled  me  some.  Anyway,  they  had  not  a  chance  to 
abuse  me.  Each  one  who  was  served  was  hustled  away 
too  quickly  by  the  one  who  was  waiting  behind. 

It  was  with  a  great  feeling  of  relief  that  I  heard  the 
ten  o'clock  bells  begin  to  ring.  In  a  very  few  minutes, 
the  last  customer  was  pushed  out,  and  the  door  locked. 
They  kept  up  a  hammering  and  kicking  at  the  door  for 
some  time,  but  we  took  no  notice. 

The  big  kitchen  kettle  was  lying  behind  the  counter, 
full  of  cold  water,  as  I  thought.  I  poured  it  down  the 
sink,  as  I  needed  the  kettle  up  the  stair.  I  was  just 
going  out  of  the  shop  door,  when  Mr.  Jardine  asked  me 
if  I  had  seen  the  kettle. 

"I  have  it  in  my  hand  to  take  up  the  stair,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"What  did  you  do  with  what  was  in  it?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

"I  poured  it  down  the  sink,"  I  answered,  wondering 
what  he  meant. 

"Is  it  all  gone?"  said  Mrs.  Jardine,  quickly. 

"Yes,"  he  returned  ruefully.  "There's  no  use  worry- 
ing about  it.  It  was  my  fault  for  leaving  it  there." 

The  kettle  had  been  full  to  the  top  with  rum,  which 
he  had  been  going  to  colour.  I  never  heard  another 
word  about  it. 

Some  few  weeks  after,  I  began  to  feel  ill.  I  went  to 
a  doctor,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  know  what  was  wrong 
with  me.  I  worked  on  for  a  month,  and  then  stopped. 
I  went  over  to  Mary's  to  stay.  I  had  a  month's  wages, 


176         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

and  I  knew  I  could  keep  myself  for  another  month  on 
that.    Perhaps  by  that  time  I  might  be  well  again. 

I  did  not  improve,  and  in  about  three  weeks  the  doc- 
tor said  I  would  have  to  undergo  an  operation.  I 
made  arrangements  to  go  into  an  infirmary  the  follow- 
ing week. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LIFE  IN  A  HOSPITAL 

Yet  once  again  I  greet  thee,  thou  fair  sun! 
And  now  I  look  upon  thy  golden  orb, 
And  in  anticipation  feel  my  soul 
Partake  thy  essence,  and  inhale  thy  beams! 

GOETHE. 

BEFORE  I  went  into  the  Infirmary  I  took  a  run  home. 
One  never  could  tell  what  might  happen  at  an  operation. 

They  were  all  very  glad  to  see  me.  I  think  they 
never  expected  to  see  me  again.  The  idea  they  had  of 
an  Infirmary  would  have  quelled  the  strongest  heart. 
To  them,  it  was  a  fearful  slaughterhouse,  where  one 
was  simply  cut  up  as  practise  for  the  doctors.  I'm  cer- 
tain they  would  have  died  rather  than  go  to  such  a  place. 
Indeed  I  had  a  great  fear  of  going  myself,  but  tried  to 
hide  it.  The  day  passed  quickly.  My  grandparents 
came  out  to  the  passage  to  see  me  away.  My  grand- 
mother was  wiping  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her 
apron. 

"Will  ye  no'  come  back  yet,  an'  get  the  doctor  at 
home?"  said  my  grandfather,  kindly.  "I'm  sure  ye'd 
be  welcome  to  stay  here." 

But  my  mind  was  made  up.  I  was  not  going  to  come 
home  when  I  was  ill.  I  bade  them  all  good-bye,  and 
started  back  to  my  cousin's. 

Next  morning  I  was  up  very  early.  Mary  did  not 

177 


178         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

go  to  her  work,  as  she  was  going  to  accompany  me  to 
the  Hospital,  and  take  back  my  clothes.  We  got  to  our 
destination  after  considerable  wandering  off  our  road. 
It  was  a  large,  handsome  building,  surrounded  by  beau- 
tiful grounds. 

We  did  not  know  what  door  patients  were  admitted 
by.  As  we  did  not  see  anyone  we  could  ask,  we  just 
went  to  the  main  entrance.  We  found  ourselves  in  a 
large  vestibule,  with  corridors  running  in  different  direc- 
tions from  it.  I  saw  several  of  what  I  took  to  be  electric 
bells  on  the  walls.  I  went  to  every  one  of  them,  and 
turned  them,  but  there  was  no  sound  of  any  bell  ringing. 
When  I  had  been  in  some  time  as  a  patient  I  found  it 
was  the  electric  lights  I  had  turned  on.  Mary  drew  my 
attention  to  a  trolley  that  was  standing  behind  the  door. 

"That's  to  take  away  the  dead  folk,"  she  said,  in  an 
awed  whisper. 

I  shivered  with  horror,  and  looked  round  in  despera- 
tion for  anyone  who  could  tell  me  where  to  go.  I  was 
afraid  if  I  had  to  wait  much  longer,  I  would  rush  out 
and  never  come  back. 

At  last  we  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps  coming  along 
one  of  the  corridors.  A  tall,  handsome  young  man  ap- 
peared, accompanied  by  a  porter.  The  porter  went  out, 
but  the  tall  young  man  looked  at  us  questioningly. 

"I'm  coming  in  here  for  an  operation."  I  said  breath- 
lessly. "Can  you  please  tell  me  where  to  go?" 

He  looked  interested. 

"Oh,  are  you?"  he  said,  giving  me  a  kindly  smile. 
"Come  along  with  me  then." 

What  a  lot  a  kind  word  can  do.  I  immediately  lost 
my  fear  of  the  place,  and  thought  I  would  like  it.  He 


LIFE  IN  A  HOSPITAL  179 

conducted  us  along  several  corridors  until  we  reached 
a  large  ward.  He  beckoned  to  a  nurse  and  left  us  with 
her. 

The  nurse  told  my  cousin  to  wait  at  the  entrance,  and 
she  would  bring  out  my  clothes.  She  then  conducted  me 
through  the  ward  to  the  bathroom.  I  glanced  nervously 
at  the  patients  expecting  to  see  a  look  of  suffering  on 
each  face.  I  was  pleasantly  surprised  to  see  them  look- 
ing bright  and  cheery. 

The  nurse  turned  the  water  on  in  the  bath  then  left 
me,  taking  my  clothes  with  her.  I  put  my  toes  into  the 
water,  but  found  it  perfectly  scalding.  I  drew  them  out 
again  pretty  quickly.  I  waited  to  see  if  the  nurse  would 
return,  but  she  did  not.  There  was  a  lot  of  taps  about, 
but  I  was  afraid  they  might  be  for  electricty.  At  last, 
getting  desperate,  I  ventured  to  turn  one  a  little.  The 
water  came  out  of  it  simply  boiling,  and  filled  the  place 
with  steam.  I  turned  it  off  quickly.  Then  a  terror 
seized  me  that  perhaps  the  doctor  might  come  in.  There 
was  nothing  else  for  it.  I  must  get  it  over.  I  plunged 
quickly  into  the  bath,  and  stayed  there  until  I  was  nearly 
parboiled.  When  I  could  stand  it  no  longer  I  got  out, 
and  dabbed  myself  very  gingerly  with  a  towel.  Just 
then  the  door  opened,  and  the  nurse  came  in.  She  looked 
at  the  steam,  then  quickly  at  me. 

"Good  gracious!"  she  exclaimed,  "did  you  bath  in 
that  water?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "I  thought  I  had  to." 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said.  She  really  looked  sorry. 
"You  should  have  rung  for  me.  Why  didn't  you  turn 
on  the  cold  water  tap?" 

"I  was  afraid  to  touch  anything,"  I  returned. 


180         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"You're  simply  like  a  lobster,"  she  said.  I  laughed, 
then  she  began  to  laugh  too.  She  gave  me  a  dressing 
gown  to  put  on,  then  put  me  into  a  bed  in  the  ward. 
There  were  two  hot  bottles  in  it,  and  I  felt  very  cosy, 
though  my  hair  was  dripping  wet. 

There  were  over  two  dozen  beds  in  the  ward.  Mine 
was  near  the  top.  The  patients  were  very  friendly.  On 
one  side  of  me  was  a  young  married  woman  on  the  way 
to  recovery.  On  the  other  was  a  middle  aged  woman, 
who  seemed  to  be  very  ill. 

The  young  married  woman,  Mrs.  Symonds,  began 
a  conversation  with  me  at  once.  She  was  rather  pretty, 
in  a  Japanese  kind  of  style.  Her  eyes  were  narrow,  her 
hair  very  black,  and  her  complexion  olive.  She  asked 
me  what  was  wrong  with  me.  I  told  her,  and  received 
in  return  a  fully  detailed  account  of  her  own  trouble, 
the  causes  thereof,  and  some  other  and  varied  informa- 
tion about  similar  troubles  that  were  suprisingly  new 
to  me.  She  said  the  doctors  would  soon  be  in  to  take 
the  patients  away  to  the  operating  theatre.  That  rather 
frightened  me.  I  thought  I  might  have  to  go  that  day. 

Shortly  after,  the  nurse  began  to  go  round  the 
patients  who  were  going  to  the  theatre.  She  put  each 
one's  hair  into  two  pleats,  and  tied  them  with  white  rib- 
bon. Then  they  got  white  stockings  on  their  feet.  They 
looked  as  if  they  were  dressed  for  their  coffin.  When 
the  nurse  came  up  my  length  I  asked  her  if  I  was  to  go. 

"Not  to-day,"  she  answered.  "You  needn't  be  in 
such  a  hurry.  Your  turn  will  come  soon  enough." 

Much  relieved,  I  began  to  take  a  great  interest  in 
the  things  around  me.  A  nurse  came  up  the  ward,  push- 
ing a  trolley  like  the  one  outside  the  door  at  the  en- 


LIFE  IN  A  HOSPITAL  181 

trance.  She  put  it  alongside  the  bed  of  the  girl  opposite 
me.  The  patient,  a  rather  delicate  looking  girl,  about 
nineteen,  with  the  help  of  the  nurse,  got  on  to  the  trol- 
ley, and  lay  down  flat.  The  nurse  covered  her  up  with  a 
blanket,  and  wheeled  her  quickly  down  the  ward. 

The  tall  young  man,  whom  I  discovered  was  Dr. 
Linton,  the  assistant  house  doctor,  met  her  at  the  foot 
of  the  ward,  and  helped  her  with  the  trolley. 

When  they  had  disappeared,  the  other  patients  be- 
gan to  speculate  on  how  long  she  would  be  under  chloro- 
form. It  was  three  quarters  of  an  hour  before  we  heard 
the  sound  of  the  trolley  returning.  Doctor  Linton 
wheeled  it  up,  then  he  and  the  nurse  lifted  the  patient 
on  to  the  bed.  The  nurse  arranged  the  clothes  round 
her.  They  then  went  to  the  foot  of  the  ward,  lifted 
another  patient,  and  quickly  disappeared  again. 

I  looked  curiously  at  the  girl  they  had  left.  She  lay 
like  one  dead.  There  was  no  sound  or  movement  from 
her.  I  noticed  a  little  froth  oozing  out  of  her  mouth. 
A  nurse  came  and  wiped  it,  then  slapped  her  face  gently. 
She  showed  no  sign  of  life  whatever. 

The  other  patient  was  back  in  twenty  minutes.  There 
were  two  more  after  that,  but  they  were  not  long  either. 

Shortly  after,  there  was  the  tramp  of  a  great  many 
feet  coming  along  the  corridor.  About  half  a  dozen 
Doctors  came  up  the  ward,  dressed  in  long,  white  over- 
alls or  aprons.  They  were  the  visiting  Doctors  and 
Surgeons  for  the  day.  Doctor  Linton  was  there  too. 
They  startled  me  very  much.  I  had  never  seen  doctors 
dressed  so  before.  Doctor  Linton  had  his  apron  partly 
gathered  up  in  his  hand.  There  seemed  to  be  blood  on 
it.  They  gave  a  casual  look  at  all  the  patients,  and 


182         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

stopped  for  a  minute  at  the  bed  of  the  girl  opposite  me. 
Doctor  Linton  slapped  her  face  again,  but  she  never 
moved. 

They  then  crossed  over  to  me.  One  of  the  Surgeons 
explained  my  case  to  the  others.  Apparently  he  was 
going  to  operate  on  me.  I  never  in  my  life  felt  so 
ashamed  of  being  stared  at.  After  what  seemed  an  age 
to  me,  off  they  went.  Soon  after,  we  had  dinner. 

I  had  a  little  soup,  followed  by  mince  and  two  small 
potatoes.  Mrs.  Symonds,  who  was  on  different  diet, 
had  a  small  piece  of  a  very  shrivelled  looking  fowl. 

She  asked  me  for  one  of  my  potatoes.  I  was  loath  to 
part  with  it,  but  I  did  not  like  to  refuse.  We  had  tea  at 
half  past  four,  which  consisted  of  as  much  tea  and  bread 
and  butter  as  we  liked. 

At  half  past  seven  we  had  porridge,  after  which  the 
lights  were  turned  down,  and  we  were  settled  for  the 
night.  I  could  not  sleep  for  ever  so  long.  The  night 
nurse  flitted  about  like  a  ghost  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
ward.  How  strange  everything  was  to  me.  At  the  top 
of  the  ward,  near  my  bed,  were  the  folding  doors  which 
led  out  to  the  balcony  where  the  patients  who  were  able 
to  be  up  could  get  the  fresh  air.  Struggle  as  I  would 
against  it,  my  eyes  kept  turning  in  that  direction.  In 
imagination  I  saw  the  spirits  of  all  those  who  had  died 
in  the  ward  crowding  round  about  the  doors  outside, 
and  peering  through  to  see  if  there  were  any  others 
nearly  ready  to  join  them.  I  wondered  with  a  growing 
terror  how  many  had  died  in  my  bed.  The  wind  blew 
the  shrubs  outside  backward  and  forward,  making  the 
shadows  change  continually.  I  imagined  in  my  terror 
that  they  were  the  ghosts  of  the  dead  struggling  to  see 


LIFE  IN  A  HOSPITAL  183 

who  could  get  nearest  the  door  to  look  in.  Shivering 
with  fear,  I  drew  the  bedclothes  tightly  over  my  head. 
After  what  seemed  hours,  I  fell  asleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  the  feeling  that  someone  was  near 
me.  I  found  that  the  bedclothes  had  been  taken  off  my 
head,  and  tucked  down  at  the  side.  I  opened  my  eyes 
warily,  and  discovered  that  Doctor  Linton  was  sitting 
on  the  side  of  my  bed.  The  nurse  and  sister  were  bend- 
ing over  the  woman  next  me.  Evidently  she  had  got 
worse.  They  were  giving  her  morphia.  She  was  moan- 
ing dreadfully.  I  lay  perfectly  rigid  as  I  did  not  want 
to  attract  their  attention.  After  a  little  they  turned 
down  the  lights  and  went  silently  away.  I  fell  asleep 
again. 

I  think  it  was  half  past  five  in  the  morning  when  we 
were  awakened  for  a  cup  of  tea.  How  fine  I  thought  it 
was  to  lie  in  bed  and  have  nothing  to  do.  The  patients 
who  were  allowed  up  brought  water  to  the  others  to 
wash  themselves.  There  was  a  large  window  opposite 
my  bed.  In  the  distance  I  could  see  the  outline  of  some 
hills.  By  and  by,  the  sun  began  to  rise  behind  them.  I 
have  never  forgotten  the  glory  of  those  sunrises.  I 
hardly  ever  took  my  eyes  off  the  window  from  the  time 
the  first  pale  glow  appeared  until  the  sun  burst  forth 
in  all  its  splendour.  To  be  able  to  lie  and  do  nothing 
but  watch  the  wonderful  changing  colours  was  a  thing  I 
had  never  experienced  before.  Very  likely,  when  I  left 
the  Hospital  I  would  not  have  another  chance.  Leisure 
to  admire  sunsets  did  not  often  come  my  way.  To  live 
and  keep  myself  decent  meant  hard  work  for  me  all  the 
time.  While  I  was  in  the  Hospital,  I  looked  forward 
with  pleasure  to  every  morning. 


184         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

The  nurse  told  me  at  breakfast  that  I  was  to  be  oper- 
ated on  the  next  forenoon.  That  day  I  got  no  tea.  I 
did  not  get  any  supper  or  breakfast  either  the  next 
morning.  Preparations  began  for  the  Theatre.  I 
donned  the  white  stockings.  My  hair  was  short  and 
curly,  so  the  nurse  could  not  tie  it  back.  Another  nurse 
brought  up  the  trolley.  I  got  on  to  it,  and  she  wheeled 
me  away.  In  the  corridor  Doctor  Linton  met  us.  He 
pushed  the  trolley,  and  the  nurse  went  to  the  other  end, 
leant  over,  and  had  a  ride.  She  was  a  bit  of  a  harem- 
scarem  anyway.  When  we  got  near  the  Theatre  she 
jumped  off. 

Doctor  Linton  gave  me  the  chloroform  in  a  little 
anteroom  off  the  Theatre.  It  was  not  altogether  an  un- 
pleasant sensation.  Of  course  there  is  always  the 
thought  that  one  may  never  come  out  of  it.  I  knew 
nothing  until  I  opened  my  eyes  in  bed  again.  For  three 
days  after  I  got  nothing  but  a  little  milk  and  soda. 

The  time  passed  very  quickly.  I  was  a  month  there, 
and  still  no  signs  of  me  leaving.  I  was  not  worrying 
about  that.  I  was  perfectly  content  where  I  was.  I  had 
no  visitors  except  Mary,  who  came  to  see  me  once.  My 
cousins  never  came  near  me,  although  it  would  only 
have  cost  them  a  few  pence  in  the  car. 

Sometimes  it  vexed  me  to  see  a  crowd  of  friends 
round  the  other  beds,  and  not  a  soul  at  mine.  Often 
these  strangers  came  over  and  slipped  cakes  and  sweets 
underneath  my  pillow.  Mrs.  Symonds  generally  shared 
what  she  got  with  me. 

One  day  the  husband  of  the  woman  who  was  so  ill 
came  in  to  see  her.  She  was  too  bad  to  talk  to  him,  so 
he  sat  down  beside  me. 


LIFE  IN  A  HOSPITAL  185 

"I  don't  think  she'll  get  better,"  he  said,  nodding  to- 
wards his  wife. 

"I'm  afraid  she  won't,"  I  answered,  feeling  sorry 
for  him. 

He  drew  his  chair  a  little  closer  to  my  bed. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  think  would  be  my  best  plan  if 
she  dies?"  he  said  confidentially. 

"No,"  I  returned,  wondering  what  he  was  going  to 
say. 

"Well,"  he  said  slowly,  "I'll  just  get  married 
again." 

I  was  amazed.  I  thought  him  a  bit  premature  in  his 
planning.  He  might  have  had  the  decency  to  wait  until 
she  was  dead  anyway.  I  did  not  know  what  to  say,  so  I 
said  nothing. 

"You  know,"  he  went  on,  "there's  no  use  of  me 
breaking  up  my  house.  I've  got  good  furniture.  If  I 
sold  it,  I'd  get  nothing  like  its  value.  I'll  get  a  house- 
keeper for  a  little,  but  I'll  get  married  soon." 

"Have  you  any  family?"  I  asked. 

"I  have,"  he  answered.    "Two  boys." 

That  certainly  did  modify  matters  a  little,  but  it  did 
not  excuse  such  indecent  haste.  I  said  very  little.  The 
time  was  up  and  he  rose  to  go. 

"Well,  good-bye  then,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 
"I'll  likely  see  you  again." 

"You  may,"  I  answered  indifferently.  Inwardly  I 
hoped  not.  The  hand  I  ignored  altogether. 

"What  was  he  yarning  about?"  asked  one  of  the 
nurses  with  a  laugh,  when  he  had  gone. 

I  told  her.  She  seemed  astonished  too  that  anyone 
could  be  so  callous. 


186         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

When  the  visitors  were  all  gone,  Mrs.  Symonds 
slipped  me  some  chocolates.  Sweets  and  cakes  were 
strictly  forbidden,  but  we  got  them  all  the  same. 

We  were  both  sitting  up  in  bed  enjoying  them,  when 
Doctor  Linton  came  up  the  ward.  We  pretended  we 
were  not  eating  anything.  He  glanced  at  us,  half 
smiled,  but  said  nothing.  He  spoke  to  the  nurse,  then 
went  away  again. 

"Isn't  he  a  dear,"  remarked  Mrs.  Symonds,  whose 
eyes  had  followed  him  down  the  ward.  "It's  a  pity 
he's  so  shy." 

"Shy!"  I  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "I  can't  say  I've 
noticed  it.  It's  only  imagination  on  your  part." 

"Oh,  it's  Mrs.  Symonds  that's  always  trying  to  give 
him  the  glad  eye,  and  she  thinks  he's  shy,  because  he 
never  takes  any  notice  of  her,"  laughed  Mrs.  Lennie, 
a  married  woman  across  the  ward. 

"You're  mistaken,"  returned  Mrs.  Symonds,  with  a 
toss  of  her  head.  "I'm  sure  I  don't  care  a  fig  whether 
he  looks  at  me  or  not." 

"That'll  do  you  now,"  answered  Mrs.  Lennie. 
"Haven't  I  watched  you  eyeing  him  every  time  he  comes 
into  the  ward?" 

"You're  welcome  to  think  what  you  like,"  retorted 
Mrs.  Symonds,  a  little  piqued. 

"Oh  well,"  I  said,  "I  like  him,  and  feel  quite  happy 
when  he  throws  me  a  kind  look;  and  I  would  a  hun- 
dred times  rather  have  him  dress  my  wound  than  the 
nurses." 

"You're  right  there,"  said  Mrs.  Lennie.  "No  matter 
how  gentle  a  nurse  is,  she  hasn't  the  tender  touch  a  doc- 
tor has  with  a  woman." 


LIFE  IN  A  HOSPITAL  187 

When  the  chocolates  were  finished,  Mrs.  Symonds 
suggested  a  pillow  fight. 

"Go  ahead  then,"  I  said.    "I'll  have  first  go." 

I  threw  my  pillow  at  her  with  all  my  might.  It 
caught  her  full  on  the  face,  and  landed  her  on  her  back. 
We  had  it  hot  for  about  five  minutes.  Her  hair  was 
all  hanging  down.  Suddenly  she  stopped,  and  lay  down 
like  a  lamb.  I  glanced  down  the  ward.  Dr.  Linton 
was  standing  in  the  passage  leaning  against  the  wall, 
and  looking  towards  us.  I  lay  down  so  quickly  that  I 
gave  my  head  a  terrible  thump  against  the  wall.  My 
pillow  was  lying  at  the  side  of  Mrs.  Symonds'  bed,  so  I 
had  to  do  without  it.  That  finished  our  game  for  the 
day. 

"How  many  did  you  count  when  you  were  getting 
chloroform?"  Mrs.  Symonds  asked  me  after  tea. 

"Twelve,  I  think,"  I  answered. 

"I  counted  twenty,"  said  an  English  girl  in  the  bed 
next  to  Mrs.  Symonds. 

"I  don't  believe  you,"  snapped  Mrs.  Symonds.  "I 
counted  up  to  seventeen,  and  I'm  perfectly  sure  you 
never  got  further  than  me." 

"But  I  did,"  answered  the  English  girl  angrily. 
"Surely  I  know  best." 

"And  I  know  perfectly  well  that  you're  a  liar,"  re- 
torted Mrs.  Symonds. 

They  had  a  hot  argument  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
about  it.  After  that  they  ceased  to  be  on  speaking 
terms  until  they  left  the  Hospital.  I  wondered  how 
women  could  quarrel  about  such  a  trifle,  and  in  a  place 
like  that  too. 

Next  morning  a  little  boy  of  two  and  a  half  came 


188         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

into  our  ward.  He  was  the  most  spoilt  child  I  ever  came 
across  in  my  life.  Nothing  would  please  him.  He 
alarmed  the  whole  place.  I  had  to  feed  him  with  his 
porridge  at  night.  Nurse  wheeled  his  cot  alongside 
my  bed,  and  she  and  the  Doctor  watched  my  fruitless 
efforts  to  get  the  porridge  down  his  throat.  Just  when 
I  had  the  spoon  at  his  mouth  he  would  give  a  yell,  push 
the  spoon  violently  away,  and  splutter  the  porridge  all 
over  me.  It  made  me  mad.  At  last  they  had  to  take 
him  away.  His  yelling  annoyed  the  woman  beside  me 
who  was  so  ill.  They  put  him  into  the  men's  ward. 
The  men  were  furious. 

"What  the  devil  was  she  bringing  that  yelping  brat 
to  their  ward  for?"  they  asked  the  nurse. 

"The  noise  was  too  much  for  the  women,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"What  about  us  though?"  asked  a  man  angrily.  "The 
women  are  not  to  be  annoyed,  but  it  doesn't  matter  a 
damn  about  us." 

How  we  laughed  when  the  nurse  told  us. 

The  day  the  boy  went  away,  a  new  patient  came  in. 
She  was  a  stout,  elderly  woman,  and  was  put  into  a  bed 
near  me,  but  on  the  opposite  side.  Apparently  her  case 
was  very  serious.  If  she  underwent  an  operation,  there 
was  a  chance  for  her,  but  if  she  did  not,  there  was  no 
chance  at  all.  The  next  day  happened  to  be  visiting  day, 
and  her  two  daughters  came  to  see  her.  They  were 
asked  to  decide.  They  decided  to  have  the  operation 
performed.  They  had  brought  half  a  pound  of  cracknel 
biscuits  with  them  for  her.  When  they  had  gone,  the 
woman  slipped  them  into  the  locker  at  the  side  of  her 
bed. 


LIFE  IN  A  HOSPITAL  189 

She  was  to  be  operated  on  the  next  forenoon,  so  of 
course  had  no  tea  that  day.  Next  morning,  she  begged 
so  hard  for  a  cup  of  tea,  that  the  Doctor  said  she  might 
have  one,  but  nothing  to  eat.  We  were  on  the  watch 
to  get  the  biscuits.  After  she  had  been  taken  to  the 
Theatre,  Mrs.  Symonds,  who  was  allowed  up,  went 
over  to  get  them.  Alas,  the  locker  was  empty.  The 
woman  had  eaten  the  whole  half  pound  to  the  cup  of 
tea  she  had  had  in  the  morning.  We  were  flabber- 
gasted. How  could  any  woman  do  such  a  thing  before 
a  serious  operation  like  what  she  had  to  undergo.  She 
came  through  all  right  though,  in  spite  of  her  greed. 

A  few  days  after  the  Doctor  allowed  me  up.  When 
the  Surgeon  who  had  operated  on  me  came  round,  he 
asked  me  if  I  would  like  home.  What  could  I  say  but 
yes?  He  spoke  very  kindly,  and  said  as  I  would  be 
able  to  get  plenty  of  fresh  air  where  I  belonged,  he 
would  let  me  go  the  next  day.  Poor  man,  he  thought  he 
was  doing  me  a  favour,  but  it  was  exactly  the  opposite. 

I  felt  very  sad  at  the  thought  of  leaving  the  Hos- 
pital. I  liked  the  bright,  clean  ward.  The  nurses  and 
Doctors  had  been  very  kind  to  me  and  I  hated  to  have 
to  leave  it  all.  It  had  to  be  though.  I  wrote  home  to 
Meg  to  come  and  meet  me  and  bring  some  clothes. 
She  came  the  following  afternoon.  Mrs.  Symonds  was 
going  that  day  too.  After  I  was  dressed,  Doctor  Lin- 
ton  sent  word  that  he  wanted  to  see  me.  Mrs.  Symonds 
was  mad  because  he  did  not  want  her  too.  But  I  had  a 
wound  that  I  had  to  get  instructions  about.  He  was  very 
nice  and  said  I  would  have  to  be  careful  of  myself. 

"What  did  he  say  to  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Symonds  cu- 
riously, on  my  return. 


190         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Oh,"  I  answered,  "he  said  he  was  sorry  I  was  going 
away,  and  hopes  to  see  me  back  again  soon." 

I  bade  them  all  good-bye  and  went  away,  feeling  very 
dejected. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  DOCTOR 

Physicians  mend  or  end  us, 

Secundem  artem — but  although  we  sneer 

In  health — when  sick,  we  call  them  to  attend  us, 
Without  the  least  propensity  to  jeer. 

BYRON. 

AFTER  the  Hospital  I  thought  our  home  very  cramped 
and  small.  The  "Wee  Room"  I  could  hardly  bear  to 
sleep  in.  The  coarseness  and  poverty  of  every  thing, 
the  dirty,  gossiping  women  at  the  doors,  jarred  on  me 
terribly.  My  life  in  the  Hospital  had  awakened  new 
thoughts  in  me.  The  refinement  of  the  doctors  and 
nurses  made  me  feel  dissatisfied  with  my  life.  It  was 
not  that  I  cared  any  less  for  them  at  home,  but  simply 
the  environment  that  I  could  not  bear. 

At  the  Hospital  the  nurses  had  talked  a  good  deal 
to  me.  I  had  felt  at  home  with  them,  and  able  to  speak 
naturally.  It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  had  had 
anything  to  do  with  educated  people.  It  was  a  glimpse 
into  a  world  that  I  had  never  known.  I  never  of  course 
mentioned  a  word  of  this  at  home.  It  would  have 
vexed  them,  and  besides,  they  would  not  have  under- 
stood. 

Doctor  Linton  had  told  me  to  go  to  a  doctor  at  home 
and  have  my  wound  dressed.  The  day  after  I  got 

191 


192         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

home  I  did  so,  and  asked  him  if  I  was  to  come  back 
again. 

"What  do  you  think  yourself?"  he  asked. 

I  thought  it  rather  a  strange  question  for  him  to 
ask  me.  How  could  I  tell  whether  it  was  necessary  for 
me  to  go  back  or  not?  I  said  I  did  not  know. 

"I  think  you'll  manage  all  right,"  he  said. 

In  a  few  days  it  healed  up.  I  thought  I  would 
start  work  again.  I  went  to  a  servants'  registry  in  the 
town,  and  got  a  situation  as  general  servant  the  first 
day.  I  had  the  feeling  that  if  I  could  get  work  with 
some  nice,  refined  people,  I  should  be  happier. 

I  went  on  a  Monday.  Mrs.  B ,  the  lady  of  the 

house,  instructed  me  about  the  work.  After  a  day  or 
two  I  got  into  the  swing  of  it,  and  always  managed  to  be 
done  about  three.  Then  I  would  sit  in  my  bedroom,  a 
nice,  sunny  little  room,  and  read  or  sew.  I  did  not  feel 
very  contented  though.  There  was  a  formality  about 

Mrs.  B and  her  three  girls  that  jarred  on  me.  It 

was  not  that  they  were  unkind,  but  simply  that  they 
gave  me  the  feeling  that  they  thought  me  a  very  in- 
ferior being.  It  awoke  a  feeling  of  hostility  in  me.  I 
thought  I  would  try  to  stay  a  few  months  anyway  as  I 
was  badly  needing  some  clothes. 

In  three  months  I  began  to  feel  a  pain  under  my 
arm.  It  grew  worse,  then  a  swelling  appeared.  In 

three  weeks  Mrs.  B and  her  family  were  going  to 

Arran  for  a  month's  holidays.  I  was  to  have  a  week 
at  home,  and  then  follow  them.  I  thought  I  would 
work  on  until  that  time.  Meg  said  there  was  a  new 
doctor  at  home,  so  I  thought  I  would  try  him. 

The  day  they  left  for  Arran,  I  started  off  home 


THE  DOCTOR  193 

carrying  a  large  parcel.  When  I  had  got  about  half 
way,  the  strain  of  carrying  such  a  weight  burst  the 
swelling  under  my  arm.  It  gave  me  some  relief.  I  left 
the  parcel  in  the  house,  and  went  to  the  new  doctor's 
consulting  room.  I  was  the  only  one  waiting. 

I  sat  wondering  in  a  vague  kind  of  way  what  kind 
of  man  he  would  be.  I  wondered  if  he  would  be  as 
pleasant  as  Doctor  Linton.  Thinking  of  Doctor  Lin- 
ton  made  me  long  to  be  back  in  the  Hospital  again.  The 
door  of  the  room  opened  suddenly,  making  me  jump.  A 
young  man  entered,  then  shut  it  behind  him.  He  was 
tall  and  dark,  with  thick,  curly  black  hair  and  very 
penetrating  brown  eyes. 

"Well,"  he  said  brusquely,  "what's  the  matter?"  He 
spoke  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  child. 

"Oh,"  I  answered,  "I  don't  think  it's  very  much." 

I  let  him  see  my  arm,  and  told  him  about  my  previous 
trouble.  It  was  just  as  I  had  supposed.  The  wound 
had  been  healed  up  far  too  quick. 

"Are  you  good  at  bearing  pain?"  he  asked,  looking 
at  me  critically. 

"I  think  so,"  I  answered.  I  did  not  want  to  be 
thought  a  coward. 

"What's  your  name?"  he  said.     I  told  him. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "will  you  come  down  to  my  house 
tomorrow  at  twelve?" 

"Very  well,"  I  answered. 

"I  won't  hurt  you  any  more  than  I  can  help,"  he 
said  kindly. 

He  stood  watching  me  fastening  my  blouse.  It  made 
me  feel  very  embarrassed.  I  thought  he  might  have 
had  the  sense  to  turn  his  head  the  other  way. 


194         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Can  I  help  you?"  he  asked  gravely. 

"You  can  not,"  I  answered  hurriedly.  "I  can  man- 
age fine  myself." 

My  blouse  was  fastened  down  the  back.  I  simply 
could  not  get  a  button  in.  I  slipped  my  jacket  on 
quickly,  knowing  it  would  hide  all  deficiencies. 

"Good-bye,"  I  said,  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"Why  didn't  you  fasten  your  dress  properly?"  he 
said  abruptly.  "Do  you  want  to  get  cold  in  that 
wound?" 

"It's  all  right,"  I  answered  quickly,  wishing  I  was 
outside.  "I  haven't  far  to  go." 

"Very  well,  mind  you  don't  forget  the  time,"  he 
said.  "Good-bye."  He  held  out  his  hand.  I  shook 
hands,  feeling  pleased  at  his  courtesy,  and  hurried 
out. 

"Well,"  asked  my  grandmother  anxiously  when  I 
got  home,  "how  did  ye  get  on?" 

"Well  enough,"  I  said,  "I've  to  go  to  his  house  to- 
morrow." 

"What  kind  of  man  is  the  Doctor?"  inquired  Meg. 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  I  answered  slowly.  "I  couldn't 
say  whether  I  like  him  or  not.  Anyway,  he's  a  man 
that  will  have  his  instructions  carried  out,  or  know  the 
reason  why." 

"Is  he?"  said  Meg,  with  a  laugh.  "He'll  have  his 
work  cut  out  for  him  with  you  then." 

"How?"  I  inquired,  not  seeing  anything  to  laugh  at. 

Meg,  who  was  tidying  the  fireside,  straightened  her- 
self up  and  looked  at  me. 

"When  did  you  ever  do  anything  a  doctor  told  you?" 
she  asked. 


THE  DOCTOR  195 

"If  it's  an  argument  you  want,  you've  missed  your 
mark  this  time,"  I  returned  stiffly. 

She  threw  her  head  back,  and  laughed.  Meg  some- 
how, always  makes  me  feel  that  I  am  beaten. 

Next  day  I  was  at  the  Doctor's  house  at  twelve 
sharp.  Doctor  Granger  was  the  name  on  the  brass 
plate.  I  rang  the  bell,  feeling  very  nervous. 

He  answered  the  door  himself,  looking  very 
severe. 

"Come  in,"  he  said.  He  led  the  way  into  his  study, 
and  I  followed  him. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  at  the  time  I  told  you?"  he 
said  sternly.  "I've  had  the  nurse  waiting  here  an  hour. 
She's  just  away  a  minute  ago." 

"But  I  did  come  when  you  told  me  to,"  I  protested. 
"You  said  I  was  to  come  at  twelve  o'clock." 

He  looked  at  me  a  minute. 

"Are  you  sure  I  said  twelve?"  he  asked. 

"Quite,"  I  answered  positively.  "I  wasn't  likely  to 
forget  it." 

"Oh  well,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "I'm  sorry  if  it  was 
my  fault.  Will  you  come  to-morrow  then?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  a  little  sullenly. 

"Good-bye  then,  and  don't  forget  the  time  to-mor- 
row," he  said. 

I  looked  at  him,  feeling  very  much  annoyed. 

"I  didn't  forget  the  time  to-day,"  I  replied  mean- 
ingly. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  said  hastily.  "To-morrow 
then." 

When  I  got  home  there  of  course  was  Meg  with  her 
questions. 


196         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Well,  is  it  done?"  asked  my  grandmother.  "I'm 
sure  it  must  have  been  sore." 

"No,"  I  answered  shortly.  "He  didn't  do  it.  He 
said  I  came  at  the  wrong  time." 

"So  you  were  too  late,"  remarked  Meg.  "I'm  sure 
he  didn't  let  you  off  with  it." 

"Faith,  yon't  the  boy  to  smerten  ye  up  a  bit.  What 
did  he  say?" 

"I  don't  mind  what  he  said,"  I  answered  evasively. 

Next  day  I  was  down  a  few  minutes  before  twelve. 
The  maid  showed  me  into  the  study.  The  Doctor  and 
Nurse  were  both  there.  The  Nurse  helped  me  off  with 
my  things,  while  the  Doctor  prepared  his  instru- 
ments. 

It  was  dreadfully  painful  but  I  was  determined  not 
to  show  how  I  felt.  The  Doctor  looked  at  me  sev- 
eral times.  Perhaps  he  imagined  I  was  going  to  faint, 
but  I  never  made  any  sign  that  I  felt  anything.  When 
he  had  finished,  he  asked  me  if  I  would  like  a  drink. 

"Oh  no,"  I  answered,  "I'm  all  right." 

I  hurried  on  my  things. 

"You're  a  little  brick,"  he  said.  "Now  mind,"  he 
admonished  me,  "you're  not  to  use  that  arm.  You 
ought  to  have  it  in  a  sling." 

"I'm  not  going  to  use  it,"  I  answered  quickly.  I 
had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  going  about  making  an 
exhibition  of  myself  with  my  arm  in  a  sling. 

"Good-bye  then,  and  come  to-morrow  again." 

He  watched  me  out  at  the  gate.  I  was  feeling  very 
faint,  but  I  walked  quickly  until  I  got  out  of  his  sight. 
Then  I  went  into  a  passage,  and  sat  down  on  a  stair 
for  a  little,  until  I  felt  more  sure  of  myself. 


THE  DOCTOR  197 

"Well,"  asked  my  grandmother,  as  soon  as  I  had 
entered  the  door,  "is  it  done  this  time?" 

"It  is,"  I  answered. 

"Was  it  bad?"  she  questioned. 

"Bad  enough,"  I  said,  "but  it  might  have  been 
worse." 

"I  hear  he's  a  clever  Doctor,"  remarked  Meg,  always 
on  the  hunt  for  information. 

I  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her,  and  went  into  the  big  room 
and  banged  the  piano  for  a  while. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  I  told  the  Doctor  that  I  was 
going  to  Arran  on  the  Monday. 

"For  a  holiday?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said.  "When  you  go  to  Arran 
you  must  go  to  the  doctor  there." 

"Very  well,"  I  answered.  "I  won't  be  back  to  you 
again." 

"Of  course  you  will,  as  soon  as  you  come  home,"  he 
said  sharply,  stopping  in  the  middle  of  bandaging  my 
arm. 

On  Monday  I  got  the  boat  for  Arran.  When  I  got 
ashore  I  had  a  long  way  to  walk  before  I  reached  the 

farm  where  the  B s  were  staying.  It  was  right  on 

top  of  a  hill.  There  was  a  glorious  view  from  it.  I 
was  delighted  to  think  I  was  to  be  there  for  three  weeks. 

That  evening  I  asked  Mrs.  B if  she  knew  where 

I  could  get  a  doctor. 

"A  doctor,"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "There's  no 
such  man  here.  But  what  do  you  want  a  doctor  for?" 

I  explained. 

She  said  I  should  not  have  come.     I  said  that  per- 


198         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

haps  I  could  manage  myself.  But  there  were  no  shops 
to  buy  dressing  in.  I  wrote  home  to  Meg  to  send  me 
some. 

Next  afternoon  I  got  a  telegram.  Wondering  who 
it  could  be  from  I  tore  it  open.  It  was  from  Meg,  to 
say  that  I  was  to  come  home  at  once.  I  was  greatly 
surprised,  and  wondered  what  could  be  wrong  at  home. 

I  showed  it  to  Mrs.  B .  She  said  I  had  better 

get  the  last  boat,  which  sailed  in  half  an  hour. 

It  was  a  wet,  miserable  day.  It  was  pretty  rough 
crossing,  and  I  became  very  sick.  The  captain,  a  brawny 
highlandman,  got  me  into  a  sheltered  nook,  and  fast- 
ened up  an  old  oilskin  to  keep  off  the  draught.  Two 
gentlemen  came  at  intervals  and  pestered  me  to  take  a 
cup  of  hot  tea.  I  could  not  think  of  it.  They  only 
embarrassed  me. 

It  was  dark  when  I  got  home.  Everything  was  all 
right.  My  grandmother  advised  me  to  take  off  my  wet 
things  at  once. 

"What  made  you  throw  away  sixpence  on  a  tele- 
gram?" I  inquired  of  Meg,  who  was  making  some  tea. 

She  was  looking  serious. 

"The  Doctor'll  let  you  know  that,"  she  answered. 
"You're  to  go  down  at  once.  He's  mad.  He  says  you 
told  him  you  were  going  for  a  holiday." 

"You  had  no  need  to  go  and  tell  him,"  I  said  crossly. 

"I  didn't  know  what  kind  of  stuff  you  wanted,"  she 
returned. 

I  started  off  for  the  Doctor's  very  reluctantly.  I  was 
shown  into  his  study.  He  was  sitting  reading  a  book. 
He  looked  up  quickly. 

"Well,"  he  said  solemnly,  "you're  back." 


THE  DOCTOR  199 

"Yes,"  I  answered  meekly,  thinking  it  best  to  appear 
humble. 

"Why  did  you  tell  me  you  were  going  for  a  holiday?" 
he  demanded. 

"So  I  was,"  I  answered. 

"Your  sister  said  you  had  gone  back  to  your  work," 
he  said  sternly. 

"Oh  Meg,"  I  said  weakly.  "Maybe  she  thought  it 
was  work.  I  didn't." 

He  was  silent.  Meg  had  told  me  that  he  was  not 
going  to  dress  my  wound  after  what  I  had  done.  I 
was  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  I  felt  like  breaking  down, 
what  with  one  thing  and  another. 

He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  me.  I  sat  on 
the  end  of  the  couch,  and  stared  at  the  carpet.  At 
last  I  could  suffer  it  no  longer.  I  got  to  my  feet. 

"I'd  better  go  then,"  I  said,  in  a  shaking  voice. 
"Good  night." 

"Sit  down,"  he  said  quietly.  "I'll  let  you  off  this 
time,  but  you  don't  deserve  it." 

"I  know  I  don't,"  I  answered,  feeling  greatly  re- 
lieved; "I'm  sorry,"  I  added  humbly. 

He  softened  a  bit  before  I  came  out  though,  and  gave 
me  a  pat  on  the  shoulder. 

When  Mrs.  B returned  I  resumed  my  work 

again. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  SHORT  ILLNESS 

All  hail,  Remembrance  and  Forgetfulness! 

Trace  Memory,  trace,  what  e'er  is  sweet  or  kind — 
When  friends  forsake  us,  or  misfortunes  press, 

Oblivion,  raze  the  record  from  our  mind. 

BLAND. 

I  HAD  always  been  troubled  with  headaches.  Since 
I  had  been  in  the  mill,  they  had  become  more  frequent. 
I  dreaded  them  very  much,  as  they  made  me  unfit  for 
anything.  I  had  some  laudanum  in  the  house  that  I  had 
bought  once  for  toothache.  I  tried  some  of  it  one  day 
for  my  headache,  and  found  that  it  gave  me  relief. 
After  that  I  always  had  some  handy.  I  knew  that 
laudanum  was  a  dangerous  thing  to  take,  but  when  my 
headache  was  bad,  I  would  have  taken  anything. 

One  night  I  was  home  I  went  to  Doctor  Granger  and 
asked  him  if  he  could  give  me  anything  to  cure  them. 
He  asked  me  if  I  had  been  taking  anything  for  them. 
I  said  I  was  taking  laudanum.  He  lectured  me  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  on  the  evil  of  taking  drugs,  and 
gave  me  some  tabloids  as  a  substitute.  Drugs,  he  said, 
were  ruin  both  to  soul  and  body.  I  left  the  Doctor 
with  the  promise  that  I  would  not  buy  any  again. 

I  did  not  give  much  thought  to  what  he  had  said.  I 
had  not  felt  any  ill  effects  from  what  I  had  taken,  but 
had  saved  myself  many  a  day's  pain.  I  had  taken  only 

200 


A  SHORT  ILLNESS  201 

a  few  drops  at  first,  but  latterly,  I  had  been  taking  al- 
most a  pennyworth  at  a  time.  Besides  helping  my  head- 
ache, I  liked  the  delightful  carefree  feeling  it  gave  me. 

I  disliked  very  much  my  life  of  continual  servility, 
and  thought  if  I  could  take  anything  that  would  lift 
my  mind  off  it  for  a  few  hours,  all  the  better.  I  have 
a  strong  will,  and  knew  that  if  I  wanted  to  stop  taking 
laudanum  I  could  do  so,  but  I  was  not  really  caring 
whether  I  stopped  it  or  not.  However,  I  thought  I 
would  give  the  tabloids  a  trial.  I  found  that  I  had  to 
take  three  times  the  amount  the  Doctor  had  told  me 
to,  and  even  then  they  were  not  very  effective.  Very 
soon  they  were  done.  I  thought  for  once  more  I  would 
buy  some  laudanum.  My  grandmother  sent  me  to  the 
chemist's  for  something.  I  took  the  opportunity  to 
ask  for  a  pennyworth.  The  shopman,  a  nice,  quiet  fel- 
low, looked  confused. 

"What  is  it  for?"  he  asked. 

He  had  never  asked  me  that  before,  and  it  struck 
me  at  once  that  perhaps  the  Doctor  had  told  him  not  to 
give  me  any.  I  felt  annoyed. 

"It's  for  neuralgia,"  I  said,  "but  never  mind.  I  can 
get  something  else." 

"I'll  give  you  a  powder,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"I  won't  mind  it  just  now,  thank  you,"  I  answered. 

"I'll  give  you  the  laudanum  if  you  get  a  line  from 
your  Doctor,"  he  said. 

"It  really  does  not  matter  at  all,"  I  returned  indif- 
ferently. 

I  got  my  other  message  and  came  out.  I  was  in  a 
dilemma.  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  first  time  the 
Doctor  was  in  the  shop,  the  young  man  would  tell  him. 


202         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  thought  my  best  plan  was  to  go  and  tell  him  first 
myself.  I  was  terribly  afraid  of  going,  but  it  would 
be  less  humiliating  than  if  he  heard  it  in  the  shop. 

His  housekeeper  said  he  was  just  at  his  tea,  and  told 
me  to  wait  in  the  study.  I  sat  down  on  a  chair  in  a 
shadowed  corner.  In  a  minute  he  came  into  the  room. 

"It's  you,  Jean,"  he  exclaimed.  "But  why  are  you 
sitting  in  that  dark  corner?  Come  over  here." 

He  pushed  a  chair  opposite  himself,  for  me  to  sit  on. 
I  moved  over,  very  unwillingly.  He  looked  at  me  a 
minute. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"I  had  a  bad  headache,"  I  explained  breathlessly. 
"I  went  into  the  Chemist's  for  some  laudanum,  and  he 
wouldn't  give  me  any." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  perfectly  silent,  and 
stared  at  me.  I  breathed  hard,  wondering  what  was  to 
come. 

"Look  here,  Jean,"  he  said  at  last,  very  solemnly, 
"you  don't  understand  the  seriousness  of  what  you  are 
doing.  After  a  little  you  won't  be  able  to  stop  it,  even 
if  you  want  to.  You  must  never  buy  any  more,  in  any 
shop.  Will  you  promise  that?" 

"Oh  yes,"  I  answered  eagerly,  really  meaning  it. 
"I'm  finished  with  it  this  time." 

I  rose  to  go,  feeling  very  much  relieved. 

"Sit  down,  I've  something  more  to  say  to  you, 
Jean,"  he  said  quietly. 

I  sat  down  again.  He  asked  me  a  lot  of  questions  I 
could  not  see  the  drift  of  at  all.  Indeed,  I  was  not 
listening  much  to  him.  I  liked  him,  but  I  stood  in  awe 
of  him  all  the  same.  He  was  clean  shaven,  and  I 


A  SHORT  ILLNESS  203 

thought  what  a  determined  looking  jaw  he  had.  He 
was  a  bachelor,  and  I  wondered  what  kind  of  girl  he 
would  choose  if  he  married,  and  if  he  would  strike  her  if 
she  roused  his  temper.  I  pondered  this  question  in 
my  mind  for  a  while,  and  had  just  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  he  certainly  would  strike  her,  when  his  voice 
pulled  me  up  quickly. 

"Do  you  hear  what  I  am  saying  to  you?"  he  ex- 
claimed sharply. 

"Oh  yes,"  I  answered  hurriedly,  "I  never  intend  to 
buy  any  more." 

"That's  right,"  he  said  kindly,  leading  the  way  out. 

He  smiled  as  he  opened  the  door,  and  I  changed  my 
mind  suddenly,  and  decided  that  he  would  not  strike 
her  after  all. 

I  worked  on  at  Mrs.  B 's  for  another  two 

months,  then  I  began  to  feel  unwell.  It  made  me  miser- 
able to  think  that  I  might  be  going  to  have  another  ill- 
ness. I  could  not  expect  to  get  on  in  the  world  if  I  was 
always  ill.  I  said  nothing  about  it  to  anyone,  but  went 
to  the  Doctor,  thinking  that  I  might  get  something  that 
would  prevent  me  from  getting  worse.  He  said  he  was 
afraid  I  would  have  to  go  through  a  slight  operation.  It 
could  be  done  in  the  house,  and  he  would  give  me  some 
chloroform. 

I  hated  to  tell  them  at  home,  but  I  just  had  to.  As  I 
expected,  they  made  a  fuss  about  it,  and  thought  it  far 

worse  than  it  was.  I  arranged  to  leave  Mrs.  B 's 

at  the  end  of  the  month.  The  Doctor  was  to  come  to 
our  house  that  evening,  and  tell  me  what  time  he  would 
be  the  following  day.  About  ten  o'clock,  a  very  late 
hour  in  our  house,  he  came. 


204         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Meg  showed  him  into  the  big  room,  and  lit  the  gas. 
He  told  me  that  the  district  nurse  and  another  one 
would  be  coming  to  give  him  a  hand.  I  was  unpleas- 
antly surprised.  I  had  thought  it  was  a  small  thing, 
and  that  I  woul'd  not  need  a  nurse  at  all. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  patting 
my  cheek. 

He  went  out  quickly,  saying  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  go 
to  an  urgent  case.  As  he  passed  the  kitchen  door,  he 
went  in  for  a  light  for  his  cigar.  He  spoke  to  them  all 
cheerily,  and  said  something  to  my  grandfather  that 
made  him  laugh.  It  is  wonderful  what  a  kind,  cheery 
word  can  do.  From  that  night,  everyone  in  our  house 
liked  the  Doctor. 

"That's  a  fine  fellow,"  I  heard  my  grandfather  re- 
mark, when  he  had  gone. 

"He's  the  boy  that's  no'  blate  about  makin'  himself  at 
home  anyway,"  answered  my  grandmother. 

Then  she  and  Meg  and  Ann  came  into  the  room  to 
hear  the  news. 

"What  time  is  he  coming  the  morn?"  asked  Meg. 

"He?"  I  answered.  "There's  to  be  two  nurses  be- 
sides him." 

My  grandmother  threw  up  her  hands  in  horror. 

"In  the  name  o'  God,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  are  they 
goin'  to  do  with  ye  anyway?" 

I  told  them  what  time  the  nurses  were  coming.  Next 
morning,  the  house  was  all  cleaned  and  ready  by  half 
past  ten.  They  were  coming  at  eleven.  I  was  in  bed, 
but  getting  wearied  of  waiting.  I  got  up  to  have  a  tune 
on  the  piano.  My  grandmother  came  into  the  room, 
with  Meg  at  her  heels. 


A  SHORT  ILLNESS  205 

"Och,  och,"  she  exclaimed,  in  horrified  tones,  "is 
that  no'  lamentable?  Sittin'  at  a  piany,  an'  ye  don't 
know  but  that  ye  may  be  in  yer  shroud  before  night. 
It  would  fit  ye  better  to  be  down  on  yer  knees  prayin'." 

"Indeed,  it's  a  nice  looking  thing,"  said  Meg,  trying 
to  egg  on  my  grandmother. 

Just  then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  they 
had  to  leave  me.  It  was  the  two  nurses.  After  a 
great  deal  of  running  out  and  in  to  the  kitchen,  they 
got  everything  ready.  They  pinned  sheets  on  the  table. 
I  watched  them  with  interest.  Very  soon  the  Doctor 
came.  He  took  out  his  instruments,  and  gave  them 
to  the  nurses  to  sterilise.  Taking  off  his  coat,  he  rolled 
up  his  shirt  sleeves  in  a  very  business  like  manner. 
He  reminded  me  of  a  washerwoman  just  starting  a 
hard  day's  work  at  the  tub,  and  it  made  me  smile. 

The  table  was  shifted  to  the  light  of  the  window, 
then  I  got  on  to  it.  The  chloroform  affected  me  very 
quickly. 

It  seemed  only  a  few  minutes  until  I  opened  my 
eyes  in  bed  again.  I  saw  the  nurses  moving  about, 
but  I  felt  so  sleepy  I  just  shut  them  again,  and  lay 
still.  Someone  came  and  rubbed  my  cheek.  I  was 
afraid  to  open  my  eyes  in  case  it  would  dispel  the  de- 
lightful, dreamy  feeling  that  I  had.  I  heard  the  Doc- 
tor's voice  saying: 

"She'll  do  all  right  now,"  then  they  all  went  away. 

Before  they  were  right  out,  Meg,  Ann,  and  my 
grandmother  were  in  the  room.  It  distressed  me  so 
much  to  speak  to  them  that  they  had  to  go  away.  I 
lay  for  about  an  hour,  half  asleep,  and  half  awake, 
then  the  Doctor  came  back. 


206         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Sleepy?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"That's  good,"  he  said.  "Just  you  try  to  sleep, 
and  don't  lift  your  head  off  the  pillow,  mind."  Off 
he  went. 

Soon  after  he  had  gone  the  sleepiness  left  me.  I  felt 
very  well,  so  I  thought  I  would  sit  up  and  read  a  book 
for  a  while.  I  put  my  pillows  up  against  the  head  of 
the  bed,  and  leant  back  against  them.  In  about  five 
minutes  I  felt  so  horribly  sick,  that  I  had  to  lie  down. 
Every  time  I  tried  to  move  my  head  off  the  pillow,  the 
sickness  returned  worse  than  ever.  I  got  terribly 
thirsty  and  asked  Meg  for  a  drink. 

"Indeed  I  will  not,"  she  answered  emphatically. 
"You  shouldn't  have  sat  up,  and  you  wouldn't  have  been 
sick." 

I  asked  Ann  and  my  grandmother  for  some  water, 
but  Meg  would  not  let  them  give  me  any. 

"If  you're  wise,  you'll  give  her  nothing  of  the  kind," 
she  warned  them. 

"All  right,"  I  said  to  Meg.  "Wait  until  the  first 
time  you  are  hard  up  for  a  drink.  I  wouldn't  give  you 
one  if  your  tongue  was  hanging  out  the  length  of  my 
arm." 

Meg  only  laughed.  The  hours  dragged  on.  My 
thirst  got  awful,  and  I  felt  utterly  miserable.  About 
eight  o'clock  the  Doctor  came. 

"Well,  dear,  are  you  feeling  better?"  he  asked,  sit- 
ting down  on  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"I  would  like  a  drink,  please,"  I  said  eagerly. 

"Of  course  you'll  get  a  drink,"  he  answered,  rising 
quickly  and  going  to  the  kitchen.  I  heard  him  telling 


A  SHORT  ILLNESS  207 

Meg  to  bring  him  a  cup  of  water  and  a  teaspoon.  I 
wondered  what  the  teaspoon  was  for.  Meg  brought 
what  he  wanted.  She  had  her  hat  and  jacket  on  for 
going  out. 

"Jean's  been  sick  all  the  afternoon,"  she  said,  giv- 
ing a  quick  glance  over  at  me. 

"Sick,"  exclaimed  the  Doctor  in  surprise.  "What 
made  her  sick?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Meg  innocently,  "unless 
it  was  that  she  sat  up  in  bed  to  read  a  book,  just  when 
you  went  away." 

"Oh,"  he  said  quietly.     "That'll  do,  thanks." 

Meg  went  out,  and  he  shut  the  door.  I  felt  wild  at 
Meg.  She  had  had  no  occasion  to  tell  him  at 
all. 

He  came  over  and  stood  with  his  back  leaning  against 
the  table,  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  looked  at 
me.  I  was  shaking,  and  kept  my  eyes  fixed  obstinately 
on  the  rail  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"You  don't  deserve  a  drop,"  he  said  grimly. 

I  never  answered. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  deserve?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  I  said. 

"A  good  whipping,"  he  returned  quietly. 

An  angry  retort  rose  to  my  lips,  but  a  quick  glance 
at  his  face  made  me  change  my  mind  and  say  nothing. 
He  stood  looking  at  me  a  while  longer.  I  thought  it 
was  to  see  if  I  could  not  be  tempted  into  saying  some- 
thing back,  but  I  was  not  to  be  caught.  I  did  my  best 
to  assume  an  absent-minded  expression,  which,  under 
the  circumstances  was  not  exactly  easy. 

At  last  he  lifted  the  cup  and  spoon  from  the  table. 


208         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Coming  over  to  the  bed,  he  raised  my  head  on  his  arm, 
and  gave  me  a  few  spoonfuls  of  the  water. 

"Isn't  that  nice?"  he  asked,  putting  the  cup  back  on 
the  table. 

I  felt  annoyed.  It  was  a  drink  I  had  wanted,  and 
not  to  be  fed  like  a  child.  I  never  expressed  any 
thanks  for  it. 

"Now,"  he  warned  me,  "you've  got  to  lie  quiet  and 
try  to  sleep." 

He  lifted  his  hat  from  the  table,  and  taking  the  cup 
with  him,  went  out.  When  I  had  heard  the  house 
door  shut,  I  turned  my  face  to  the  wall  and  had  a  good 
cry. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  My  grandmother 
opened  it.  I  heard  the  Doctor's  voice,  saying  he  had 
forgotten  his  stick.  To  my  dismay,  he  came  right  into 
the  room  himself  for  it.  I  covered  my  head  quickly 
with  the  bedclothes. 

He  found  the  stick,  then  came  over  and  stood  at  the 
side  of  the  bed.  Suddenly,  he  sat  down  on  the  bed,  and, 
without  any  warning,  pulled  the  clothes  off  my  head. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  he  said  softly. 

He  began  to  stroke  the  hair  gently  from  the  side  of 
my  head.  I  never  looked  round,  or  pretended  I  knew 
he  was  there. 

He  sat  for  a  good  while,  then  rising,  tucked  the 
clothes  behind  my  shoulders,  and  went  quietly  out  of 
the  room. 

Next  day  I  was  a  good  deal  better.  At  the  end  of 
the  week  I  was  up  again,  and  quite  well.  I  was  anxious 
to  get  back  to  work.  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Jardine  and 
said  I  would  like  to  go  back,  if  she  had  no  one  else. 


A  SHORT  ILLNESS  209 

On  the  Saturday  I  had  a  letter  from  her  saying  they 
would  be  glad  to  have  me,  as  soon  as  I  cared  to  come. 
I  decided  to  go  on  the  Monday. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MY  MOTHER  VISITS  ME 

Thoughts?     What  are  they? 
They  are  my  constant  friends 
Who  when  harsh  fate  its  dull  brow  bends 
Uncloud  me  with  a  smiling  ray, 
And  in  the  depth  of  midnight,  force  a  day. 

FLATMAN. 

THE  Monday  I  returned  to  the  Jardine's  was  a  bitter 
cold  day.  They  seemed  glad  to  see  me.  I  was  not 
long  there  until  Mr.  Jardine  asked  me  to  go  down  to 
the  shop  for  a  few  minutes.  As  usual,  the  minutes 
turned  into  hours.  He  must  have  been  pretty  much 
confined  when  I  was  away.  Now  that  I  was  back  he 
was  taking  full  advantage. 

The  shop  was  terribly  cold.  The  east  wind  blew 
right  through  in  gusts,  sending  the  papers  flying  in  all 
directions.  If  I  had  been  busy  I  would  not  have  felt 
the  cold  so  much.  I  tried  to  tidy  up  things  behind  the 
counter  to  keep  myself  going,  but  my  teeth  were  simply 
chattering.  My  fingers  were  benumbed  washing  the 
glasses  in  the  cold  water. 

One  night  I  was  sitting  at  the  kitchen  fire  knitting. 
I  rose  from  my  chair,  and  found  that  I  could  not  walk 
without  great  difficulty.  I  thought  the  pain  would 

pass  away,  and  I  would  be  all  right  in  the  morning. 

210 


MY  MOTHER  VISITS  ME  211 

When  the  morning  came,  I  could  hardly  dress  myself. 
I  believed  it  was  the  cold  in  the  shop  had  given  me 
a  chill  after  my  recent  illness.  I  did  not  say  so  to  Mrs. 
Jardine  though.  It  was  not  her  fault.  I  said  I  would 
have  to  go  home  at  once.  She  was  vexed  to  think  I  had 
to  go  away  again,  but  there  was  nothing  else  for  it. 

I  dressed  and  got  my  things  tied  up.  I  was  very 
worried  about  how  I  was  to  get  to  the  station.  I  had 
a  long  country  road  to  walk.  There  was  no  convey- 
ance unless  I  hired  a  cab,  a  thing  which  never  for  a 
moment  entered  my  head. 

Anyhow,  it  had  to  be  done.  I  bade  the  Jardines 
good-bye  and  started  off.  I  managed  a  good  bit,  then  I 
had  to  put  down  my  parcel  and  rest  against  the  hedge 
by  the  side  of  the  road.  After  that,  I  had  to  stop 
much  oftener.  Several  farmers'  carts  passed  me  on  the 
road,  but  I  was  too  shy  to  ask  for  a  lift.  I  would  not 
have  liked  to  sit  on  a  cart  anyway.  I  reached  the  sta- 
tion at  last.  The  rest  in  the  train  helped  me  a  little. 

They  got  a  great  surprise  when  I  walked  in  at  home. 
I  explained  what  was  wrong.  Meg  said  she  would 
go  for  the  Doctor  at  once.  She  was  not  long  back, 
when  he  arrived.  I  was  waiting  in  the  big  room  for 
him.  When  I  told  him  what  was  the  matter,  he  looked 
terribly  solemn.  He  sat  down  on  a  chair,  and  never 
said  a  word.  I  thought  it  must  be  something  bad,  to 
make  him  look  like  that.  After  a  little,  he  got  up. 

"You'd  better  get  to  bed,  Jean,  and  I'll  see  you  in 
the  morning,"  he  said  kindly,  and  went  into  the  kitchen. 

He  was  a  long  time  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  wondered 
uneasily  what  he  could  be  saying.  As  soon  as  he  had 
gone,  Meg  hurried  into  the  room. 


212         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"You've  done  it  this  time,"  she  blurted  out.  "He 
says  he  can  do  nothing  for  you.  He  said  something 
about  wanting  to  get  another  doctor  from  Glasgow." 

"You're  telling  lies,"  I  retorted  angrily.  "He  never 
said  anything  of  the  kind  to  me." 

"It's  hardly  likely  he'd  tell  you,"  she  answered,  "but 
it's  true  anyway." 

I  was  shocked.  I  had  often  wished  I  were  dead,  but 
now  that  it  seemed  staring  me  in  the  face,  I  shrank 
back  in  terror.  I  leant  my  head  against  the  mantle- 
piece,  and  tried  to  think  what  I  would  do.  I  knew 
that  if  a  specialist  had  to  come,  it  would  cost  a  lot  of 
money.  I  thought  it  would  be  ten  pounds  anyway. 
Then  the  idea  came  into  my  head  that  when  I  got  better 
I  could  go  back  to  the  Jardines.  I  got  a  pound  a 
month,  so  in  ten  months  I  could  earn  what  would  pay 
the  doctor.  On  the  other  hand,  if  I  died,  who  was  to  pay 
him?  I  turned  it  over  and  over  in  my  mind  until  my 
head  ached.  I  did  not  think  somehow  that  I  would 
die.  I  thought  I  might  risk  getting  a  doctor,  and  being 
able  to  pay  him.  I  asked  Meg  what  she  thought  of 
my  plan.  She  said  she  thought  I  might  manage  it  that 
way. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "when  Doctor  Granger  comes  in  the 
morning,  if  he  speaks  about  getting  another  doctor,  just 
say  he  can  bring  him." 

She  said  she  would,  so,  that  being  settled,  I  became 
quite  cheery  again. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  turned  very  ill. 
I  bore  it  as  long  as  I  could,  but  the  pain  got  so  bad, 
that  Meg  had  to  go  for  the  Doctor.  My  grandmother 
and  Ann  got  up  and  sat  at  the  kitchen  fire. 


MY  MOTHER  VISITS  ME  213 

"No,  no,  I'm  sure  she'll  niver  see  the  mornin',"  I 
heard  my  grandmother  say. 

Ann  came  into  the  room  to  see  if  there  was  anything 
she  could  do  for  me,  but  the  pain  was  so  bad  that  I 
could  not  bear  to  have  her  near  me.  Meg  could  not 
have  been  long  away,  but  it  seemed  hours  to  me.  Ten 
minutes  after  she  had  come  back,  I  heard  the  Doctor's 
quick  step  in  the  lobby. 

He  threw  his  hat  on  the  table,  and  came  hastily  over 
to  me.  He  had  the  collar  of  his  coat  turned  up  round 
his  neck. 

"Is  the  pain  bad,  dearie?"  he  said  gently. 

"It's  been  dreadful,"  I  answered,  trying  to  steady  my 
voice. 

He  took  something  out  of  his  pocket,  and  went  into 
the  kitchen.  He  returned  in  a  few  minutes,  and  in- 
jected some  morphia  into  my  arm.  It  acted  like  magic. 
In  a  minute  or  two,  my  pain  was  all  gone.  A  happy, 
dreamy  feeling  came  over  me.  He  put  the  syringe  on 
the  table,  and  sat  down  at  the  bedside. 

"You  must  go  to  sleep  now,"  he  said  quietly. 

I  tried  hard  to  sleep,  but  could  not.  I  pulled  the 
bedclothes  over  my  head  to  see  if  I  could  induce  sleep 
that  way  but  he  would  not  let  me  do  that.  I  felt  sorry 
for  him,  sitting  waiting  there  in  the  cold,  so  at  last 
I  just  shut  my  eyes  and  pretended  I  was  asleep.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  got  up  and  tiptoed  from  the  room. 

Next  morning,  the  pain  was  as  bad  as  ever.  The 
Doctor  came  at  ten  and  gave  me  some  more  morphia. 
Meg  came  into  the  room  after  he  had  gone. 

"He's  left  his  box  of  drugs,"  she  said. 

"Has  he  ?"  I  exclaimed  eagerly.     "Let  me  see  them." 


214         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

She  handed  me  a  little  round  box.  I  opened  it  and 
saw  three  round  pellets. 

"They  must  be  very  strong,"  remarked  Meg.  "All 
that  you  got  was  a  little  scraped  off  one  of  them." 

I  examined  them  curiously.  I  would  very  much  have 
liked  to  try  one  of  them,  but  I  was  too  afraid  of  the 
doctor's  anger  to  risk  it.  I  looked  over  the  box  care- 
fully, thinking  perhaps  there  might  be  a  loose  grain  or 
two.  There  was  not  a  speck.  Disappointed,  I  put 
on  the  lid  again.  Meg  eyed  me  hard  all  the  time. 

"If  you're  wise,"  she  advised  me,  "you'll  leave  those 
things  the  way  you  got  them." 

"Did  you  imagine  I  was  going  to  poison  myself?"  I 
retorted.  "Surely  I  can  look  at  them?" 

"You  can,"  she  returned.  "Look  at  them  all  day 
if  you  like  for  me." 

"I'd  better  put  them  under  my  pillow  till  he  comes,"  I 
said.  "If  you  put  them  away,  you'll  likely  forget 
where  you've  laid  them." 

"All  right,"  answered  Meg.  "But  don't  forget  to 
give  him  them." 

All  afternoon  I  thought  about  them.  Several  times 
I  took  them  out  and  looked  at  them.  The  effect  of 
what  I  had  got  in  the  morning  was  beginning  to  wear 
off,  and  the  pain  was  coming  back.  It  was  very  tan- 
talising to  have  the  stuff  beside  me,  and  not  be  able  to 
touch  it.  I  had  almost  made  up  my  mind  to  risk 
scraping  a  little  off  with  a  pin  when  I  heard  the  doctor's 
knock  at  the  door. 

"There  was  someone  asking  for  you,  Jean,"  he  said, 
when  he  came  in. 

"For  me,"  I  said  in  surprise.     "Who  was  it?" 


MY  MOTHER  VISITS  ME  215 

"Your  minister,"  he  answered.  "I  was  telling  him 
you  were  ill." 

"You  needn't  have  bothered,"  I  returned  huffily.  "I 
don't  want  him." 

I  felt  mad.  I  hated  any  of  the  church  people  com- 
ing near  me  with  their  condescending  airs. 

He  laughed. 

"You're  a  little  sinner,"  he  said,  "I'm  sorry  though 
but  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  him." 

"Why  should  I  want  to  see  him,  or  any  of  his  kind?" 
I  answered  passionately.  "What  better  are  they  than 
me,  because  they  happen  to  be  better  dressed,  and  live 
in  a  fine  house?  God  made  us  all  alike,  and  I  simply 
can't  bear  to  have  any  of  them  coming  staring  at  me  as 
if  they  were  doing  me  an  honour  to  sit  in  the  same  room 
with  me.  I  feel  neither  honour  or  pleasure." 

He  stood  staring  at  me.  I  suddenly  became  con- 
scious of  my  outburst,  and  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  it. 

"Do  you  know,  Jean,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "you 
are  perfectly  right  in  what  you  say." 

"Then  you  don't  think  they  are  any  better  than  me, 
doctor?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"Indeed  I  don't,"  he  answered  emphatically. 

It  pleased  me  very  much  to  hear  him  say  that.  No- 
body, who  has  not  suffered  it,  knows  the  pain  of  being 
spoken  to  as  if  one  were  made  of  different  clay.  God 
only  uses  one  kind  of  material,  which  he  gives  to  us  to 
form.  The  beauty  or  ugliness  of  the  modelling  de- 
pends on  ourselves. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  that,"  I  said  warmly. 

"But  why  should  you  imagine  I  would  think  other- 
wise?" he  asked  with  a  smile. 


216         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Your  class  generally  do  think  otherwise,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"You're  a  strange  girl,  Jean,"  he  said.  "You'd  better 
lie  still  and  put  all  those  thoughts  out  of  your  little  head 
for  the  present." 

He  was  just  going  out  when  I  remembered  the  tab- 
loids. 

"You  forgot  something  this  morning,  doctor,"  I 
said. 

He  turned  round  quickly. 

"What?"  he  asked. 

"A  little  round  box,"  I  said. 

"Where  is  it?"  he  inquired,  returning  quickly  to  the 
bedside. 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  suspicious  way  he 
looked  at  me.  I  took  it  from  underneath  the  pillow. 

"It's  here,"  I  said.  "I  was  afraid  it  might  get 
lost." 

He  took  it  hastily  from  my  hand,  opened  the  lid, 
and  examined  the  contents.  Apparently  satisfied  that 
it  was  as  he  had  left  it,  he  put  it  into  his  pocket. 

"I  suppose  you  would  have  kept  it  if  you  hadn't  been 
afraid?"  he  said,  trying  to  look  stern. 

I  laughed.     He  pulled  my  hair  and  went  out. 

There  was  no  word  of  getting  another  doctor.  I 
began  to  think  that  Meg  must  have  misunderstood 
Doctor  Granger,  and  felt  much  relieved.  Late  that 
evening  I  heard  the  doctor's  knock  at  the  door.  He 
came  into  the  room,  accompanied  by  a  tall  gentleman. 
I  knew  at  once  that  it  was  the  specialist 

He  spoke  in  a  drawling  voice,  and  was  very  nice  to 
me.  I  was  perfectly  dumfounded  when  he  told  me 


MY  MOTHER  VISITS  ME  217 

that  I  would  have  to  lie  in  bed  for  six  weeks.  It 
appalled  me  to  think  of  being  ill  at  home  all  that  time 
without  earning  a  penny.  I  had  given  my  grand- 
father some  money  when  I  came  home,  but  it  would 
not  keep  me  for  six  weeks.  I  could  make  up  for  it 
when  I  got  well,  of  course,  but  that  did  not  make  my 
mind  easy  now. 

I  was  not  feeling  very  ill.  If  I  had,  perhaps  I  would 
have  been  glad  to  lie.  I  had  no  books  to  read,  and  I 
wondered  how  I  was  going  to  get  through  that  time, 
staring  at  the  four  walls  of  the  room.  The  nurse  was 
to  come  every  day,  so  that  was  something  to  look  for- 
ward to  anyway.  And  I  would  have  Doctor  Granger 
too. 

When  the  nurse  came  in  the  morning,  I  told  her  that 
Doctor  Granger  had  brought  another  doctor  the  night 
before. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  evidently  greatly  astonished, 

"that  must  have  been  Doctor  L .  He  was  down 

here  at  a  case  yesterday." 

"Who's  he?"  I  asked  curiously. 

"He's  one  of  the  best  Specialists  in  the  West  of 
Scotland,"  she  answered.  "Do  you  know  what  he  takes 
for  an  operation?" 

"No,"  I  asked  anxiously.     "What?" 

"A  hundred  pounds,"  she  answered  impressively. 

I  was  cTumfounded. 

"A  hundred  pounds,"  I  said  faintly. 

She  laughed. 

"He  won't  likely  charge  you  anything,"  she  said. 
"Isn't  he  a  very  handsome  man?" 

"I  didn't  notice,"  I  answered  absently. 


218         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"Do  you  know,"  she  went  on,  "he  has  the  most  beau- 
tiful eyes  I  have  ever  seen." 

But  beautiful  eyes  had  no  interest  for  me  just  then. 
I  was  too  much  troubled  about  how  the  owner  of  the 
beautiful  eyes  was  to  be  paid  his  fee. 

I  waited  anxiously  for  Doctor  Granger  to  come. 
When  he  did  appear  I  asked  him  as  soon  as  he  came  into 
the  room. 

"Don't  worry  yourself  about  that,"  he  said.  "It 
won't  cost  you  anything.  He  just  came  to  oblige  me." 

What  a  relief  I  felt.  Then  I  began  to  be  vexed 
because  he  had  come  to  me  just  for  charity.  I  felt  that 
all  my  life  I  would  have  to  feel  indebted  to  him. 

I  looked  forward  to  the  nurse's  and  doctor's  visits 
every  day.  The  nurse  always  waited  to  chat  to  me  a 
little,  and  sometimes  the  doctor  also,  if  he  was  not  too 
busy.  Before  they  came,  I  passed  the  time  in  thinking 
of  a  lot  of  things  I  would  ask  them  about.  After  they 
had  gone,  I  lay  and  thought  of  the  things  they  had  been 
speaking  of. 

One  day  the  nurse  and  I  had  a  discussion  about  love. 
It  was  a  problem  I  had  been  thinking  of  for  some  time. 
I  had  never  mentioned  it  to  anyone,  but  I  thought  I 
would  like  to  ask  the  nurse  her  opinion.  She  did  not 
seem  to  have  much  faith  in  it  at  all,  which  rather  dis- 
appointed me.  For  a  while,  I  had  been  studying  the 
people  I  knew,  who  had  got  married.  As  far  as  I  could 
see,  marriage  seemed  to  end  the  romance.  I  have  re- 
peatedly heard  married  women  bewail  their  lot,  and 
wish  they  were  single  again.  I  heard  a  woman  say  once, 
that  the  only  love  that  lived  through  life,  was  the  love 
of  mother  and  child. 


MY  MOTHER  VISITS  ME  219 

I  had  a  different  idea  of  the  matter.  I  believed 
firmly  in  a  love  that  would  last  for  ever.  Often  I  have 
felt  disgusted  at  the  girls  I  knew.  One  time  I  saw 
them,  they  would  be  deeply  in  love  with  some  young 
man,  who  seemed  to  be  all  in  all  to  them.  Perhaps  the 
young  man  would  take  a  fancy  to  some  other  girl,  and 
leave  them.  They  would  be  inconsolable  for  a  week  or 
two,  then  some  other  young  man  would  turn  up.  It 
would  be  the  same  game  over  again.  It  made  me  mar- 
vel how  they  could  change  like  that.  Lizzie,  my  com- 
panion in  the  mill,  was  one  of  that  kind.  Every  time 
I  saw  her  she  was  just  on  the  point  of  getting  married 
to  a  different  fellow. 

I  wondered  if  the  nurse  had  ever  been  in  love.  I  did 
not  think  so,  because  she  seemed  to  have  a  pretty  poor 
opinion  of  men  in  general.  There  was  nobody  else  I 
could  ask  unless  Meg,  and  it  never  entered  my  head  to 
do  that.  She  would  only  have  laughed  at  me,  and  said 
I  was  silly.  There  was  the  doctor,  of  course,  but  it 
was  too  delicate  a  subject  to  broach  to  him.  He  would 
only  have  looked  at  me  with  the  gleam  of  amusement 
in  his  dark  eyes,  that  I  had  got  to  know,  and  which  was 
so  exasperating.  Besides,  I  hoped  he  did  not  know 
about  love.  I  had  all  my  life  felt  a  terrible  loneliness 
and  longed  passionately  for  a  friend  I  could  trust.  I 
liked  the  doctor,  and  hoped  to  find  a  friend  in  him.  If 
he  knew  about  love,  then  he  would  likely  be  getting 
married,  and  I  liked  him  better  as  a  bachelor. 

The  specialist  had  left  a  prescription  for  me.  It  was 
the  most  awful  stuff  I  had  ever  tasted.  Meg  delighted 
to  give  me  my  dose. 

When  I  had  been  in  bed  about  a  fortnight,  I  took 


220         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

neuralgia  in  my  feet.  The  dull,  gnawing  pain  nearly 
drove  me  mad.  It  always  came  on  after  tea,  and  did 
not  go  away  until  the  morning.  I  could  get  no 
sleep. 

One  night  I  got  Meg  coaxed  to  go  to  the  chemist's  to 
get  something  that  would  make  me  sleep.  The  young 
man  in  the  shop  said  the  neuralgia  would  likely  be 
caused  by  the  bottle  I  was  taking.  Apparently,  certain 
kinds  of  medicine  did  that.  I  took  no  more  of  my 
bottle  the  rest  of  that  day  or  the  next. 

When  the  doctor  came  in  the  evening,  he  lifted  the 
bottle  to  see  how  much  was  out  of  it.  He  turned  to  me 
quickly. 

"Why  haven't  you  been  taking  your  medicine?"  he 
demanded. 

"I've  no  intention  of  taking  it,  if  it's  going  to  give 
me  neuralgia  in  my  feet,"  I  answered  firmly. 

"Oh,  have  you  not?"  he  returned  grimly. 

He  gave  me  a  big  dose  on  the  spot.  Meg  explained 
matters,  and  he  went  down  to  the  shop  and  had  it  hot 
with  the  young  man.  I  was  terribly  vexed  at  getting  the 
chemist  into  trouble,  and  never  complained  of  anything 
again. 

The  piano  was  at  the  side  of  the  room.  I  began  to 
think  that  if  I  had  it  in  the  corner  opposite  me,  it  would 
make  the  room  look  better. 

I  had  got  sick  of  looking  at  things  always  the  same 
way.  I  asked  my  grandmother  if  she  would  let  it  be 
shifted. 

"Put  it  wheriver  the  divil  ye  like,"  she  answered. 

I  called  Meg  and  asked  her  to  give  me  a  hand  with  it. 

"Are  you  mad?"  she  exclaimed  in  amazement.    "Ris- 


MY  MOTHER  VISITS  ME  221 

ing  out  your  bed  to  shift  a  heavy  piano.  I'll  have  no 
hand  in  it  anyway." 

But  I  was  already  out  of  bed,  and  pushing  as  hard 
as  I  could,  so  she  had  to  help  me.  She  took  a  fit  of 
laughing  at  me  pushing,  and  that  set  me  off  too.  We 
had  to  take  a  rest  until  we  got  our  breath  again. 

Having  the  piano  where  I  could  see  it  brightened  me 
up  a  little. 

When  the  doctor  came  in  at  night,  he  noticed  the 
change  at  once. 

"I  see  you've  got  the  piano  moved,"  he  said,  looking 
keenly  at  me. 

"Who  moved  it?" 

"I  suppose  it  would  be  Meg,"  I  answered  evasively. 
"She  has  a  mania  for  pushing  the  furniture  about  any- 
way." 

uOh,  has  she?"  he  said. 

"I'm  sick  of  lying  here,  Doctor,"  I  exclaimed  im- 
patiently. 

"You  ought  to  be  jolly  glad  to  get  lying  in  your  bed, 
Jean,"  he  answered  teasingly.  "I  wish  I  could  get  a 
week  in  my  bed." 

"It's  a  pity  you  can't  stay  in  it,"  I  began  hotly. 

He  was  lifting  his  hat  off  the  table,  but  he  wheeled 
round  quickly. 

"Very  likely  you'd  be  the  better  of  a  day's  rest  if  you 
are  tired,"  I  concluded  lamely. 

He  laughed,  patted  my  cheek,  and  went  out.  I  felt 
crushed.  It  was  humiliating  to  expect  sympathy,  and 
only  be  stroked  like  a  cat. 

One  day  I  was  startled  by  hearing  my  mother's  voice 
at  the  door.  I  heard  her  going  into  the  kitchen,  and  I 


222         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

lay  shaking.  I  would  have  given  anything  to  have  hid- 
den myself  but  I  dare  not.  They  would  be  sure  to  tell 
her  I  was  ill,  and  she  would  come  in  to  see  me.  I  did 
not  want  either  to  see  or  speak  to  her.  She  was  a  long 
time  in  the  kitchen,  then  I  heard  her  getting  up.  My 
heart  began  to  beat  rapidly.  My  grandmother  and 
Meg  came  first,  and  she  behind  them. 

She  had  her  bare  head.  Her  hair  was  cut  in  the 
front,  and  curled.  She  had  no  jacket,  only  a  shawl  over 
her  shoulders.  At  the  room  door  she  gave  a  careless 
glance  over  at  the  bed. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  she  asked  indiffer- 
ently. 

I  made  some  answer  about  not  being  very  bad.  The 
next  minute  she  was  looking  out  of  the  window  at  some- 
thing. Then  she  began  to  talk  of  other  things,  and  had 
apparently  forgotten  all  about  me.  Soon  they  returned 
to  the  kitchen.  In  a  short  time,  she  went  away.  Meg 
and  my  grandmother  came  running  to  the  room  window 
to  look  after  her. 

"There's  no'  much  repentance  there,"  said  my  grand- 
mother, sorrowfully. 

"No,"  answered  Meg.  "She  makes  a  brag  of  being 
in  jail  so  often.  It's  terrible." 

When  my  grandfather  came  in  at  night  they  told  him. 
He  sighed  deeply,  but  did  not  say  much.  Words  were 
useless. 

The  house  was  terribly  quiet  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 
My  head  ached  awful.  The  tick  of  the  clock  got  so  on 
my  nerves  I  could  have  screamed.  I  was  glad  when 
they  all  went  to  bed,  and  the  place  was  in  darkness. 

I  could  not  sleep  at  all,  and  I  knew  that  if  I  could  look 


MY  MOTHER  VISITS  ME  223 

into  the  other  beds,  I  would  only  see  sleepless  eyes,  with 
a  look  of  pain  in  them. 

The  next  day,  I  noticed  that  my  grandmother  was 
the  worse  of  drink.  I  was  getting  soda  water,  and  it 
happened  that  day  that  the  syphon  was  done. 

Meg  said  she  would  not  ask  my  grandmother  to  get 
any  more  in  the  state  she  was  in.  Ann  did,  and  the  an- 
swer was  a  volley  of  abuse.  When  my  grandfather 
came  in,  my  grandmother  began  to  say  things  about  me, 
and  turned  him  against  me.  They  both  spoke  so  loud,  I 
heard  what  they  said  quite  plain  in  the  room.  Ann 
came  in  trembling,  and  begged  me  never  to  mind.  I  had 
not  been  feeling  very  well  that  day,  and  it  agitated  me 
greatly.  I  cried  until  my  head  was  like  to  burst.  A 
wild  idea  came  into  my  head,  to  slip  out,  and  throw  my- 
self over  the  pier.  Something  held  me  back.  I  always 
thought  that  taking  one's  life  was  a  thing  God  never 
forgave.  All  through  the  night  I  lay  wondering  sadly 
if  any  happiness  would  ever  come  into  my  life.  I  was 
so  weary  of  everything,  I  did  not  care  whether  I  got 
better  again  or  not. 

Next  day  the  soda  was  brought  in,  but  my  grand- 
mother sulked  all  day. 

When  the  six  weeks  had  passed,  the  doctor  said  I 
might  get  up  a  little  every  day.  In  a  week's  time  I  felt 
all  right  and  the  doctor  and  nurse  were  not  coming  back. 
How  dreadfully  I  missed  them.  I  caught  myself  listen- 
ing continually  for  the  doctor's  footstep  in  the  passage. 
I  could  not  rest  in  the  house.  I  somehow  felt  suffo- 
cated. 

Often  I  made  excuses  to  my  grandmother  that  I  must 
go  out  for  fresh  air,  to  get  my  strength  back  again.  I 


224-         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

would  go  down  to  the  shore,  take  off  my  hat,  and  let  the 
wind  blow  through  my  hair.  There  I  would  sit  and 
think,  and  wonder  if  my  life  was  always  to  be  sordid. 
I  was  less  unhappy  out  there  where  I  could  watch  the 
water,  and  feel  the  soft,  fresh  wind  blowing  on  my  face, 
than  I  would  have  been  in  the  house.  My  grandmother 
had  a  habit  of  making  coarse  jokes  that  jarred  on  me. 
Meg  did  not  mind,  but  I  could  not  stand  it. 

Then  the  thought  of  the  doctor's  account  began  to 
worry  me.  In  a  few  days  I  went  down  to  his  house  and 
told  him  I  was  feeling  quite  well  again,  and  would  like 
to  go  back  to  work. 

"Why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  go  back  to  work, 
Jean?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 

"Because  I  can't  rest,"  I  answered.  "I  want  to 
work." 

"Well,  if  you  feel  that  way,  perhaps  you  might,"  he 
said  thoughtfully.  "But  you  must  be  careful." 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  moving  towards  the  door. 

"And  remember  this,  Jean,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "that 
I'm  your  friend  whenever  you  feel  you  need  one." 

I  looked  at  him  quickly.  There  was  sincerity  in  his 
dark  eyes,  and  I  knew  he  meant  it.  I  felt  vastly  com- 
forted. That  night  I  wrote  to  the  Jardines,  to  say  that 
I  was  coming  back. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

But  och,  I  backward  cast  my  e'e, 

On  prospects  drear, 
An  forward  tho1 1  canna  see, 

I  guess  and  fear. 

BURNS. 

As  I  was  going  to  the  Jardines  on  the  Wednesday, 
I  left  home  the  day  before  to  spend  the  night  with  my 
cousin  Mary.  She  stayed  in  a  single  apartment,  up  a 
rickety,  wooden  stair.  The  entrance  was  dirty  and 
squalid.  There  were  always  some  low  looking  women 
hanging  about  the  stair  foot.  I  hated  to  pass  them. 
Often  they  had  made  sarcastic  remarks  about  me.  I 
was  glad  it  was  dark  when  I  arrived.  Going  up  the 
stair,  I  could  hear  a  drunken  woman  yelling  a  vulgar 
song  at  the  pitch  of  her  voice. 

Mary  was  glad  to  see  me.  Inside  her  house  every- 
thing was  clean  and  bright.  It  was  not  exactly  a  beau- 
tiful apartment,  but  it  was  all  she  could  afford.  The 
ceiling  was  so  low,  that  a  tall  person  would  have  had  to 
stoop.  The  iron  bedstead  took  up  a  great  deal  of  room. 
There  were  two  large  wooden  chests  standing  at  one 
side,  and  so  many  clothes  hanging  about,  that  it  re- 
minded me  of  a  pawnshop.  I  could  not  have  said  that 
to  Mary  though.  It  would  have  made  her  mad. 

The  wall  was  so  thin,  we  could  hear  the  people  next 

225 


226         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

door  speaking.  An  old  man  and  woman,  with  their 
idiot  daughter,  stayed  in  the  next  house.  The  man 
seemed  to  be  decent  enough,  but  the  woman  drank  con- 
tinually. The  house  was  filthy.  Mary  had  taken  me  in 
one  day  to  see  the  daughter.  She  was  the  queerest  look- 
ing woman  I  had  ever  seen.  She  was  extraordinarily 
small,  and  had  a  broad,  flat  face,  with  very  small  eyes. 
She  kept  muttering  curses  to  herself  and  gave  me  such 
queer  looks,  that  I  hurried  Mary  out  quickly. 

I  told  Mary  all  the  news  from  home,  then  we  pre- 
pared for  bed.  She  always  went  to  bed  very  early,  as 
she  had  to  be  up  at  five  in  the  morning.  I  was  not  a 
minute  undressing,  then  I  sat  down  at  the  fire  to  wait 
until  she  was  ready.  She  had  such  a  lot  of  garments  on 
it  took  her  an  age  to  get  them  off.  When  she  was  un- 
dressed, she  started  to  put  about  as  many  on  as  she  had 
taken  off.  When  ready  for  bed,  she  was  simply  a  bun- 
dle of  clothes.  She  tied  a  shawl  on  her  head  too.  I 
wondered  uneasily  how  I  was  to  sleep  with  her.  There 
was  a  load  of  blankets  on  the  bed  too,  the  window  was 
shut  tight,  and  a  good  fire  on.  Last  of  all,  she  went 
down  on  her  knees  at  the  bedside  to  say  her  prayers. 
While  she  was  kneeling,  the  soles  of  her  feet  were  so 
tantalisingly  near  me,  that  I  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  tickle  them.  She  jumped  up  with  such  a  roar, 
that  I  laughed  until  the  tears  ran  down  my  cheeks.  She 
was  wild. 

"That's  a  terrible  thing  to  do,  and  folk  at  their  pray- 
ers," she  exclaimed  angrily. 

I  got  her  coaxed  round  though,  and  had  her  laughing 
before  we  were  settled  in  bed. 

I  had  been  sleeping  some  time,  when  I  was  awakened 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN  227 

by  something  brushing  against  my  cheek.  I  thought  it 
was  just  the  bedclothes,  and  tried  to  sleep  again.  Mary 
was  snoring  loudly.  Soon,  I  felt  the  same  thing  again. 
I  began  to  get  frightened,  and  lay  scarcely  breathing. 
In  a  minute  something  furry  ran  across  my  face.  I 
shrieked,  and  jumped  up  in  bed.  My  cry  awoke  Mary, 
and  she  too  sprang  up,  terribly  startled. 

"What's  wrong,  what's  wrong?"  she  cried  excitedly. 

"There's  something  in  the  bed,"  I  answered,  making 
a  jump  clean  over  her  on  to  the  floor. 

Except  for  a  small  glimmer  of  the  fire,  the  place  was 
in  darkness.  I  was  as  frightened  standing  there  as  I 
had  been  in  bed. 

Mary  had  got  such  a  shock,  that  it  took  her  an  age  to 
light  the  oil  lamp.  Meanwhile,  I  had  perched  myself 
on  top  of  the  two  boxes.  Having  lit  the  lamp,  she  stood 
blinking  at  me,  as  I  explained  what  had  happened.  We 
looked  towards  the  bed,  and,  to  our  horror,  saw  several 
mice  running  over  it.  They  were  over  the  floor  and 
everywhere.  I  was  like  to  go  out  of  my  mind. 

"That's  terrible,"  Mary  exclaimed  in  amazement.  "I 
never  saw  the  like  of  that  before." 

She  began  to  pull  the  bed  out  from  the  wall.  Be- 
hind it,  there  were  several  large  holes.  She  piled  wood 
and  things  in  front  of  them.  It  was  all  she  could  do. 
After  a  while  she  went  back  to  bed.  I  remained  on  top 
of  the  boxes,  with  my  legs  under  me,  like  a  figure  of 
Buddha,  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 

I  went  over  to  the  Jardines  after  breakfast  the  next 
day. 

I  did  not  feel  contented.  There  was  no  one  that  I 
cared  to  talk  to.  If  I  could  have  got  reading  a  little, 


228         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

even  at  night,  it  would  have  occupied  my  mind,  but 
there  was  no  possible  chance  of  that.  I  never  read  in 
the  shop  because  I  thought  it  looked  lazy.  In  the  house, 
we  all  sat  together  in  the  kitchen  at  night,  the  children 
too,  so  it  was  hopeless  to  try  to  read  there. 

I  meant  to  wait,  anyway,  until  I  had  earned  what  I 
thought  would  pay  the  doctor's  account,  then  I  would 
try  something  else. 

We  had  a  few  pretty  regular  customers  at  the  "Fam- 
ily Department."  They  were  mostly  women.  One  es- 
pecially, I  simply  could  not  bear.  She  had  very  evil 
eyes,  and  her  language  simply  disgusted  me.  She  al- 
ways tormented  me  to  give  her  credit,  but  that  was  a 
thing  I  would  not  have  given  to  anyone. 

One  very  wet  day  I  was  standing  behind  the  bar, 
when  a  lady  came  in.  She  was  not  the  usual  class  of 
customer,  and  I  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  She  walked 
into  the  back  room.  I  followed  her,  to  get  her  order, 
and  also  to  get  a  good  look  at  her.  She  was  stylishly 
dressed,  and  very  good  looking.  I  noticed  when  she  sat 
down  that  she  had  two  lovely  rings  on  one  of  her  fingers. 
She  asked  for  a  glass  of  brandy. 

When  I  served  her,  she  made  some  remark  about 
the  weather.  I  answered  her  and  returned  to  the  bar. 
I  stood  at  the  top  where  I  could  look  right  into  the  room 
and  watch  her.  She  must  have  noticed  me  staring  curi- 
ously, for  after  a  while  she  signed  that  she  wanted  me. 
I  went,  thinking  she  wished  another  drink. 

"Can  you  not  sit  down  beside  me  for  a  little?"  she 
asked  in  a  very  friendly  voice. 

I  was  surprised. 

"I  have  to  watch  the  bar,"  I  answered. 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN  229 

"Well,"  she  said,  pushing  a  chair  opposite  the  door, 
"sit  there,  then  you  can  see  anyone  that  comes  in." 

I  did  not  care  about  doing  that,  but  I  did  not  like  to 
refuse,  so  I  sat  down. 

"Do  you  like  to  work  here?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"Oh  well,"  I  answered,  "I'm  not  particularly  fond 
of  it." 

"What  wage  do  you  get?"  she  inquired. 

I  thought  it  rather  a  cheeky  question,  but  I  thought  I 
would  answer  it  civilly. 

"A  pound  a  month,"  I  informed  her. 

"Is  that  all?"  she  exclaimed,  evidently  shocked  to 
think  I  put  such  a  small  value  on  my  labours. 

To  me  it  seemed  a  good  deal. 

"I  think  it's  very  good,"  I  said. 

"My  dear,"  she  returned,  in  a  pitying  voice,  "it's 
too  bad  that  you  should  have  to  work  for  a  wage  like 
that." 

I  had  nothing  to  say.  She  bent  towards  me  confiden- 
tially. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "I've  taken  a  great  fancy 
to  you,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  If  you  come  to 
Glasgow  with  me,  I'll  get  you  work  where  you'll  get 
splendid  wages?" 

"But,"  I  objected,  "I've  been  in  Glasgow  working, 
and  could  hardly  earn  enough  to  keep  me  from  starv- 
ing." 

She  laughed. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "that's  just  because  you  were  a 
stranger,  and  didn't  know  where  to  look  for  it.  Do 
make  up  your  mind  and  say  you'll  come." 

I  was  astonished  at  a  stranger  taking  such  an  interest 


230         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

in  me,  and  did  not  know  what  to  say.  I  was  tired  of 
where  I  was,  and  had  been  thinking  I  would  like  to 
work  near  home  where  I  might  see  the  doctor  and  nurse 
occasionally.  If  I  could  earn  more  money  in  Glasgow, 
I  would  get  home  all  the  sooner.  I  would  have  to  wait 
such  a  long  time  with  the  Jardines  to  make  up  the 
money  I  wanted.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

"I  would  like  to  go,"  I  said  uncertainly,  "but  I'm 
not  sure." 

"Couldn't  you  come  to-night?"  she  asked  eagerly. 
"You  could  easily  slip  your  things  out." 

"Oh  no,"  I  answered  hastily,  "I  couldn't  do  that.  It 
wouldn't  be  fair." 

She  urged  me  to  change  my  mind,  but  I  would  not. 
It  was  decided  that  she  would  come  back  for  me. 

Two  days  after,  I  heard  that  she  had  been  arrested  in 
Glasgow.  Detectives  had  been  on  the  watch  for  her. 
I  knew  it  was  she  from  the  description  given  to  Mr. 
Jardine  by  a  gentleman  who  had  been  watching  her.  It 
seemed  that  she  had  been  in  jail  before  for  masquerad- 
ing as  a  man. 

It  made  me  realise  that  I  ought  to  be  careful  with 
whom  I  made  friends. 

That  day  a  travelling  theatrical  company  arrived  at 
the  hall  up  the  street.  That  distracted  my  mind  from 
my  late  acquaintance.  The  company  was  to  give  a  per- 
formance for  one  night  only.  I  ran  to  the  side  door, 
and  watched,  with  tremendous  interest,  the  scenery  be- 
ing taken  off  the  lorry,  and  carried  into  the  hall.  Any- 
thing connected  with  the  stage  had  a  great  fascination 
for  me.  Every  minute  I  ran  into  the  shop  to  see  if  any- 
one was  helping  himself  to  the  contents  of  the  bar. 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN  231 

Two  of  the  actors  came  in  for  a  drink.  I  was  de- 
lighted and  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  serve  them  that  I  up- 
set a  full  bottle  of  beer  all  over  the  counter. 

That  evening,  when  I  was  looking  out  of  the  window, 
the  two  actors  who  had  been  in  for  a  drink,  dashed 
past,  and  simply  flew  across  the  Square,  in  the  direction 
of  the  station.  One  wore  stage  clothes,  and  the  other 
had  only  one  arm  in  his  jacket.  Both  were  bareheaded. 
I  wondered  what  could  be  wrong.  Before  they  had  dis- 
appeared, a  crowd  of  young  men  and  boys  came  dash- 
ing round  the  corner  after  them.  I  asked  a  woman 
what  was  the  matter.  She  said  the  leading  lady  had 
got  drunk.  While  the  rest  of  the  company  were  trying 
to  bring  her  round,  before  the  curtain  went  up,  the  man- 
ager had  bolted  with  the  drawings.  Discovering  this, 
some  of  the  actors  had  followed,  hoping  to  catch  him. 
As  it  happened,  a  train  was  just  leaving  when  the  man- 
ager reached  the  station.  He  caught  it  and  eluded  them 
after  all. 

Shortly  after  I  had  a  letter  from  Meg,  asking  me 
home  for  a  day,  as  they  had  something  to  tell  me.  I 
wondered  what  it  could  be,  and  felt  very  anxious.  Mrs. 
Jardine  allowed  me  to  go  the  following  morning. 

When  I  arrived  at  home  I  saw  at  once  that  some- 
thing was  wrong.  It  appeared  that  my  mother  had 
come  to  the  door,  half  drunk,  and  kicked  up  a  row. 
They  had  tried  to  coax  her  to  go  away  quietly.  She 
had  got  worse,  and  had  threatened  to  break  every  win- 
dow in  the  house.  She  had  hung  about  until  my  grand- 
father came  home,  shouting  out  abusive  language,  and 
frightening  them  with  threats  of  violence. 

My  grandfather  had  said  that  there  was  nothing  else 


232         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

for  it  but  to  get  a  policeman  and  give  her  in  charge. 
She  had  defied  them,  and  said  she  did  not  care  a  bit  for 
being  sent  to  jail.  Two  policemen  had  taken  her  away. 
It  had  been  a  dreadful  ordeal  for  my  grandfather  to 
appear  at  the  court  against  her. 

When  my  grandfather  came  in  at  dinner  time,  his 
sad,  pitiful  look  went  to  my  heart.  He  seemed  utterly 
broken.  My  mother  had  said  at  the  court  that  if  she 
had  given  him  a  handful  of  money  he  would  not  have 
put  her  in  jail.  It  was  awful  to  think  that  she  would 
sin  her  soul  by  telling  lies  on  her  own  father. 

I  felt  sick  with  the  utter  hopelessness  of  it  all.  I  won- 
dered wearily  if  there  was  never  to  be  anything  but  sor- 
row in  our  home. 

I  had  to  be  away  early.  I  wanted  to  get  to  the  Jar- 
dines  before  it  was  dark.  Meg  came  to  the  station  with 
me.  I  asked  her  if  she  had  seen  the  nurse  lately.  She 
said  that  the  nurse  had  gone  away  for  good.  It  was  a 
great  blow  to  me.  I  had  depended  on  her  being  there 
when  I  came  home. 

It  was  just  beginning  to  get  dark  when  I  got  out  of 
the  train.  I  felt  utterly  miserable.  What  was  there  in 
life  to  live  for.  I  had  not  a  friend  in  the  world.  My 
work  was  uncongenial  to  me,  and  my  home  was  full  of  a 
lasting  sorrow. 

I  was  glad  of  the  long,  quiet  walk  on  the  country 
road.  The  silence  and  beauty  of  nature  all  around  had 
a  soothing  influence  on  me.  I  had  a  pretty  hopeful  na- 
ture. I  somehow  felt  that  God  would  not  let  me  be  al- 
ways cast  down.  I  could  not  see  at  all  why  my  mother's 
sins  should  humiliate  me,  yet  I  had  the  feeling  that  if 
the  Jardines  knew  what  kind  of  woman  my  mother  was, 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN  233 

they  would  not  have  me  there.  They  would  not  have 
given  that  as  their  reason,  but  I  knew  their  opinion  on 
the  matter,  from  hearing  them  speak  of  girls  in  the 
same  unfortunate  position  as  myself.  I  saw  plainly  that 
I  must  always  keep  my  parentage  a  secret. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  Jardines,  they  asked  me  what 
had  been  wrong.  I  said  it  was  just  something  they  had 
wanted  to  ask  my  advice  about  at  home.  I  felt  guilty 
somehow,  and  was  glad  to  escape  down  to  the  shop  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  NIGHT  OF  FEAR 

//  evils  come  not,  then  our  fears  are  vain; 
And  if  they  do,  fear  but  augments  the  pain. 

SIR  THOMAS  MOORE. 

I  GOT  more  discontented  every  day  in  the  shop.  I 
began  to  think  I  would  be  better  in  the  town  near  home. 
My  headaches  troubled  me  a  good  deal.  Often  when 
they  were  at  their  worst  I  would  have  given  anything 
to  have  lain  down  for  a  little.  It  was  impossible  to  do 
that.  Mr.  Jardine  had  got  to  depend  so  much  on  me 
being  in  the  shop,  that  I  did  not  like  to  complain.  Be- 
sides, there  was  not  a  corner  I  could  call  my  own.  I 
slept  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  children  were  always  mak- 
ing a  noise  there.  Many  a  time  I  was  tempted  to  take 
a  little  whisky,  but  I  never  did  take  it. 

On  my  evenings  off  I  went  over  and  sat  in  Mary's.  I 
always  felt  tired,  I  don't  know  how,  and  as  Mary  was 
not  a  very  good  talker,  I  often  fell  asleep. 

One  day  I  had  a  letter  from  Meg,  telling  me  that 
they  had  gone  to  a  new  house,  and  that  Jack  had  got  a 
little  girl.  I  was  very  glad  to  hear  it.  I  welcomed  any- 
thing for  a  change. 

I  worked  on  at  the  Jardines  for  another  month,  then 
I  left  for  home. 

234 


A  NIGHT  OF  FEAR  235 

The  new  house  I  thought  was  a  good  change  for 
them.  It  was  up  a  stair,  and  much  brighter  and  cheerier 
than  the  old  one. 

That  evening,  I  went  down  to  the  doctor  to  ask  about 
my  account.  Also  because  I  wanted  to  see  and  speak  to 
him  again.  I  was  anxious  to  take  advantage  of  his 
promise  of  friendship.  He  gave  me  a  welcoming  smile, 
which  made  me  think  suddenly  that  life  was  not  such  a 
bad  thing  after  all.  I  asked  for  my  account. 

"Do  you  want  in  now,  Jean?"  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

"Please,"  I  answered. 

"But  I  haven't  it  made  up,"  he  objected. 

"But  you  can  make  it  up,  Doctor,"  I  persisted. 

He  opened  his  book  and  looked  over  it.  It  gave  me 
leisure  to  survey  him.  There  was  a  look  of  strength 
about  him  which  I  liked.  I  was  happy  to  think  I  was 
going  to  have  him  for  a  friend.  I  would  have  liked  so 
much  to  tell  him  all  about  my  mother,  but  I  did  not  dare 
risk  it. 

He  lifted  his  head  suddenly. 

"It'll  be  three  pounds,  Jean,"  he  said.  "Is  that  too 
much  for  you?" 

I'm  sure  he  never  thought  I  was  paying  it  all  myself. 

"No,"  I  answered,  "I'll  pay  it  just  now."  I  was  de- 
lighted to  think  I  could  pay  it  all  at  once. 

"But,  Jean,"  he  said  quickly,  "I'm  not  going  to  take 
it  all  just  now.  You  can  pay  half." 

I  insisted  on  paying  it  all.  I  could  not  see  the  sense 
of  paying  half,  when  I  had  the  money  in  my  pocket.  I 
came  out  with  just  two  shillings,  but  I  was  proud  to 
think  I  had  paid  my  debt. 

I  thought  I  had  better  look  for  work  at  once,  but 


236         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Meg  advised  me  to  wait  for  a  week  anyway.  She  did 
not  want  me  to  go  back  to  service. 

"Surely,"  she  said,  "there's  something  else  you  could 
get  to  do." 

"You  know  very  well  there's  nothing  else  but  the 
mill,"  I  answered,  "and  I'm  not  going  back  there." 

"Oh  well,"  she  returned  huffily,  "please  yourself.  I 
know  it  wouldn't  be  my  choice.  You  know  perfectly 
well  that  servants  are  thought  nothing  of.  You  wouldn't 
catch  a  mill  girl  standing  the  things  that  a  servant  has 
to  stand.  They've  got  to  suffer  insults,  and  daren't  say 
a  word  back.  Then  they've  got  to  sit  in  a  corner  by 
themselves  like  a  nun.  A  mill  girl  can  keep  her  self-re- 
spect anyway,  and  that's  what  a  servant  can't  do.  She 
does  her  work,  without  having  to  cringe  to  anyone.  A 
forewoman  wouldn't  dream  of  saying  an  insulting  thing 
to  any  of  the  girls  under  her.  She  knows  perfectly 
well  that  she  would  get  back  just  as  good  as  she 
gave." 

"But  there  are  different  kinds  of  places,"  I  answered. 
"People  are  not  all  alike." 

"Well,"  she  returned  shortly,  "you've  had  a  trial  of 

service  at  Mrs.  B 's.  How  did  you  not  stay  there? 

And  you  said  they  were  kind  enough  too." 

"No,"  I  answered  thoughtfully,  "I  won't  stay  at  ser- 
vice unless  I  get  something  different  from  that.  They 
always  made  me  feel  that  I  was  on  an  entirely  different 
level  from  them.  I  suppose  that  was  what  they  would 
have  called  keeping  me  in  my  place." 

"I'm  afraid,  Jean,  that  if  you  expect  anything  else 
at  service,  you'll  be  disappointed,"  remarked  Ann,  who 
was  toasting  some  bread  for  the  tea.  "Servants  are 


A  NIGHT  OF  FEAR  237 

thought  nothing  of,  and  if  I  was  able  to  work,  it 
wouldn't  be  my  choice." 

"Oh,  let  her  please  herself,"  interposed  Meg,  crossly. 
"It's  her  own  affair,  not  ours." 

"That's  right  enough,"  returned  Ann,  "but  I  like  to 
see  folk  tryin'  to  better  themselves." 

"Oh,  Jean'll  never  be  anything  but  what  she  is,"  re- 
torted Meg,  making  an  angry  dive  at  the  kettle,  which 
was  boiling  over  on  the  clean  hearth. 

I  felt  very  unsettled.  Two  days  after,  I  started  off 
to  the  Registry  in  the  town.  I  was  hoping  that  Meg 
would  come  with  me,  but  she  was  mad  to  think  that  in 
spite  of  all  she  had  tried,  I  was  determined  to  go  to  ser- 
vice again.  At  the  Registry  I  was  sent  to  two  places.  I 
did  not  engage  in  either,  as  I  did  not  like  the  ladies  at 
all.  The  woman  in  the  Registry  was  very  much  an- 
noyed. She  said  she  had  nothing  else  for  me,  but  to 
come  back  the  next  day.  When  I  got  home,  Meg  never 
asked  me  how  I  had  got  on,  so  I  said  nothing. 

Next  day,  I  did  not  go  to  the  Registry.  I  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  wait  until  the  following  day. 

In  the  afternoon,  my  grandmother  was  sitting  at  the 
bedroom  window,  fast  asleep.  Meg,  Ann,  and  I  were 
talking  in  low  tones  at  the  kitchen  fire,  when  there  was 
a  knock  at  the  door. 

"I  wonder  who  that  can  be?"  whispered  Ann. 

"It's  maybe  some  of  the  church  folk,"  answered  Meg 
softly.  "I'll  look  through  the  keyhole." 

Rising,  she  slipped  quietly  into  the  lobby.  In  a  min- 
ute she  came  back,  looking  scared. 

"Who  is  it?"  whispered  Ann,  in  a  frightened 
voice. 


238         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"It's  Nora,"  answered  Meg,  in  a  low  tone.  "What'll 
we  do?" 

Ann  and  I  thought  the  best  plan  was  not  to  open  the 
door  at  all.  She  had  been  so  violent  when  my  grand- 
father had  charged  her,  and  had  threatened  to  take 
Meg's  life  for  getting  the  police,  that  we  were  afraid 
to  let  her  in. 

Meg  went  quietly  into  the  room,  to  warn  my  grand- 
mother not  to  make  a  noise.  My  grandmother  came 
into  the  kitchen,  and  we  sat  listening  if  we  could  hear 
my  mother's  footsteps  going  down  the  stair.  In  a  min- 
ute there  was  a  loud  thump  at  the  door  that  made  us 
all  jump.  Meg  shook  her  hand  warningly  at  us,  not  to 
take  any  notice.  Again  we  silently  waited.  Suddenly, 
she  began  to  swear,  and  shout  out  terrible  things.  She 
must  have  suspected  we  were  in. 

"What  are  we  to  do?"  whispered  Meg,  looking  very 
frightened.  "Do  you  think  we  should  open  the  door?" 

"Oh  no,"  I  said  quickly,  "don't  do  that." 

I  felt  perfectly  terrified. 

"No,  no,"  pleaded  Ann,  in  a  shaking  voice,  "don't 
let  her  in." 

She  kept  on  shouting,  and  using  awful  threats  of 
what  she  would  do  to  Meg  when  she  got  hold  of  her. 

After  a  little,  we  heard  her  going  down  the  stair.  In 
a  minute  or  two,  she  came  slipping  up  again.  Perhaps 
she  thought  we  would  imagine  she  had  gone,  and  open 
the  door.  She  waited  a  long  time,  quite  silent,  then  went 
down  the  stair  again. 

Meg  peeped  cautiously  out  at  the  kitchen  window, 
and  saw  her  walking  backwards  and  forwards  opposite 
the  house,  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 


A  NIGHT  OF  FEAR  239 

It  came  on  for  the  time  when  my  grandfather  would 
be  coming  home  from  his  work;  still  she  walked  there. 
Very  soon  we  saw  him  coming.  My  mother  saw  him 
too.  When  he  got  near  he  recognised  her.  She  stared 
over  at  him  menacingly,  but  never  spoke.  Neither 
did  he. 

When  he  came  in,  he  was  looking  very  white  and 
agitated.  He  could  not  touch  food.  Indeed  none  of 
us  ever  thought  of  food. 

"She'll  no'  set  her  foot  in  this  house  the  night,"  said 
my  grandfather  sternly.  "God  knows  I  could  forgi'e  a 
lot  to  anybody  that  would  come  in  a  humble  spirit,  but 
that's  no'  the  case  with  her.  I  see  by  the  look  o'  her, 
it's  a  row  she  wants.  The  very  divil's  lookin1  out  o' 
her  face." 

"She  looks  as  if  she  had  had  some  drink,"  said  Meg. 

"Don't  ye  go  the  door  the  night,  Meg,"  advised  my 
grandfather.  "I  wouldna  put  it  by  her  to  throw  some 
vitriol  on  ye." 

We  peeped  out  of  the  window  often,  hoping  to  find 
her  gone.  Each  time  she  was  there.  Sometimes  she 
would  stop  her  walking  and  stand  staring  steadily  up 
at  the  windows. 

The  evening  wore  on,  and  darkness  began  to  fall. 
There  was  a  church  almost  opposite  the  house.  One 
time  Meg  looked  out,  she  saw  her  sitting  on  the  church 
steps,  staring  at  the  windows.  It  got  dark  altogether. 
We  could  not  see  her  distinctly,  but  we  could  make  out 
the  outline  of  her  body. 

It  grew  late.  My  grandfather  and  grandmother  went 
to  bed. 

"Go  you's  to  bed  too,"  said  my  grandfather  to  us. 


240 

"God  alone  knows  what  she  wants,  or  what  she  means 
to  do." 

His  face  twitched,  and  his  lips  moved  in  prayer. 

Feeling  that  it  would  be  better  to  leave  him  alone, 
the  three  of  us  went  silently  into  the  room.  We  looked 
out  of  the  window  again.  The  moon  was  out,  but  the 
Church  was  in  shadow.  We  could  make  out  the  dark 
form  sitting  on  the  step. 

We  undressed  in  the  dark,  and  got  into  bed.  We 
never  thought  of  sleeping,  but  lay  talking  in  awed  voices. 
Meg  recalled  that  my  mother  had  told  her  and  Ann, 
of  how  she  had  met  the  devil  at  twelve  o'clock  one  dark 
night.  I  had  not  heard  it,  so  I  asked  Meg  to  tell  me 
about  it. 

"It  was  one  night  when  Nora  was  in  Glasgow  that 
it  happened,"  said  Meg.  "She  never  said  what  she  was 
doing,  or  where  she  was  going,  but  she  was  on  the  street 
anyway,  near  Glasgow  Cross,  when  the  clock  began  to 
strike  twelve.  Suddenly  a  huge,  black  dog  appeared  in 
front  of  her  from  nowhere.  Its  eyes  were  like  two  great 
balls  of  fire.  She  shrank  back  against  the  wall,  her 
legs  shaking  under  her.  For  a  second,  she  covered  her 
eyes  with  her  hand.  She  looked  again,  the  dog  had 
gone.  Her  blood  felt  frozen  in  her  veins,  and  she  ran 
as  fast  as  her  trembling  body  would  carry  her,  to  the 
place  she  had  been  going  to." 

"Wasn't  that  awful?"  whispered  Ann.  "Yet  even 
that  wasn't  a  warning  to  her." 

I  was  terrified  to  think  of  it.  Meg  got  up  to  see  if 
she  was  still  there. 

"I  don't  see  her,"  she  said  quickly.  "She  must  have 
gone  away." 


A  NIGHT  OF  FEAR  241 

Ann  and  I  rose  hurriedly,  and  peered  through  the 
glass. 

"I  see  her  now.  There  she  is,"  exclaimed  Meg, 
pointing  to  a  place  almost  opposite  the  window. 

We  saw  a  long,  black  shadow  thrown  across  the  pave- 
ment. It  was  clearly  defined  in  the  moonlight,  and 
looked  like  the  silhouette  of  a  woman,  with  her  head 
muffled  in  a  shawl. 

We  crept  into  bed  again.  I  could  not  get  the  thought 
of  that  shadow  out  of  my  mind.  There  seemed  to  me 
to  be  something  so  baleful  beyond  it.  I  have  all  my  life 
had  a  terror  of  darkness.  I  fancied  that  malignant  eyes 
were  watching  me.  I  lay  trembling  with  a  great  fear, 
in  the  dark,  and  keeping  as  close  to  Meg  as  I  could. 

In  the  early  morning  we  looked  out  of  the  window. 
There  was  no  one  there.  Directly  behind  the  spot  where 
the  shadow  had  been,  was  a  tree  which  we  had  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

LIZZIE 

Oh,  the  heart  that  has  truly  lov'd,  never  forgets, 

But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close, 
As  the  sun-flower  turns  on  her  god  when  he  sets, 

The  same  look  which  she  turned  when  he  rose. 

MOORE. 

THE  day  after  my  mother's  appearance,  I  went  back 
to  the  Registry.  I  got  two  names.  I  felt  so  heartless, 
and  had  so  little  hope  of  getting  anything  that  I  would 
care  for,  that  I  hesitated  for  a  long  time  what  to  do. 
I  had  heard  that  there  were  girls  wanted  in  a  laundry 
near.  Meg  wanted  me  to  go  there,  but  somehow  I  did 
not  care  to  go.  I  looked  at  the  names  on  the  paper,  and 
thought  I  would  try  the  first  one  anyway. 

I  found  the  house,  and  thought  the  lady  very  nice. 
A  beautiful  Persian  cat  sat  on  the  table  watching  me, 
with  its  large,  intelligent  looking  eyes.  The  lady  asked 
me  if  I  objected  to  cats.  I  said  certainly  not.  I  loved 
all  kinds  of  animals.  After  a  little  talk,  we  came  to 
terms.  I  was  to  begin  work  on  the  Monday. 

In  the  day  or  two  that  intervened,  I  thought  a  good 
deal  of  how  I  would  get  on  with  my  new  employers. 
I  spoke  very  little  about  it  at  home. 

On  the  Monday  I  started  off,  feeling  very  nervous. 
When  I  got  to  the  house,  I  was  shown  my  bedroom, 
first  thing.  To  my  delight  it  looked  into  a  garden,  with 

242 


LIZZIE  243 

a  wood  beyond.  That  was  one  thing  that  would  make 
me  happy.  I  had  a  great  love  of  trees,  and  would  have 
preferred  the  view  from  my  little  window  to  that  of  the 
gayest  thoroughfare. 

I  soon  got  into  the  routine  of  my  work.  I  began  to 
think  that  I  had  really  found  what  I  had  been  seeking 
for  at  last.  It  was  not  a  big  family.  Just  a  lady  and 
gentleman,  and  their  son.  The  lady,  I  learnt,  was  an 
artist.  I  was  fond  of  pictures,  and  to  be  living  in  the 
same  house  as  an  artist  gave  me  great  pleasure. 

There  was  only  one  other  thing  in  art  that  equalled 
my  love  of  pictures.  That  was  sculpture.  Once  I  had 
been  in  the  Art  Galleries  in  Glasgow,  and  had  gazed 
with  awe  and  delight  on  the  statuary  there.  The  beauti- 
ful symmetry  of  the  limbs,  posed  so  life-like,  were  a 
marvel  to  me.  I  could  have  gone  every  day,  just  to  look 
at  them,  but  alas,  fate  gave  me  little  time  for  dream- 
ing. However,  they  gave  me  food  for  thought  for  a 
long  time  after.  Many  a  romance  I  h'ave  built  out  of 
the  few  hours  spent  there. 

Very  soon  I  began  to  feel  at  home  in  my  new  situation. 
Mrs.  M — ' —  and  her  husband  were  neither  stiff  nor 
formal.  They  were  fond  of  reading,  and  kindly  offered 

to  give  me  books  to  read.  After  a  time,  Mr.  M 

got  me  a  ticket  for  a  large  public  library.  What  a  de- 
light it  was  to  me  to  be  able  to  get  any  book  I  chose  I 

Before,  I  had  read  indiscriminately,  but  Mrs.  M 

began  to  advise  about  the  books  that  were  really  worth 
reading.  I  became  acquainted  with  all  the  well  known 
authors.  What  a  world  of  romance,  travel,  and  ad- 
venture was  opened  out  for  me.  Travel  I  was  very 
fond  of  reading.  Books  on  Egypt  I  never  tired  of. 


244,         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

The  silence  of  the  desert,  the  splendour  of  the  old  tem- 
ples, which  remain  to  tell  the  glory  of  a  bygone  race,  to 
me  were  full  of  a  tremendous  interest. 

One  night  I  was  sitting  reading,  when  suddenly  the 
words  of  the  "dummy"  came  into  my  mind.  Rather, 
I  ought  to  say,  the  words  he  had  written  on  the  paper — 
"Father,  mother  and  son."  I  wondered  if  it  had  any 
connection  with  my  present  situation,  as  the  family  cor- 
responded exactly.  A  hope  came  into  my  heart  that  it 
might  prove  a  turning  point  in  my  life. 

I  was  allowed  nights  off,  but  I  would  much  rather 
have  stayed  in  the  house  with  my  books.  I  had  to  go 
home  though,  or  they  would  have  been  vexed. 

Lizzie  Grant,  the  girl  whom  I  had  become  acquainted 
with  in  the  mill,  had  taken  a  situation  near  me,  and  was 
always  asking  me  to  go  out  walks  with  her.  She  was  a 
nice  enough  girl,  but  exceedingly  fond  of  young  men, 
and  excessively  vain.  She  used  to  make  me  mad  when  I 
called  for  her  to  go  out.  She  would  be  sitting  in  the 
midst  of  her  dirty  dishes,  reading  a  novel.  When  the 
dishes  were  washed  up,  she  would  find  that  her  shoes 
needed  cleaning.  That  done,  we  would  go  to  her  bed- 
room. There  the  bed  would  be  lying  unmade,  and  the 
room  would  look  like  something  that  had  been  swept 
in  by  the  tide.  She  would  start  to  dress.  Her  hair  had 
to  be  done  over  again.  Several  blouses  and  skirts  had  to 
be  tried  on.  The  looking  glass  would  be  put  down  on 
the  floor,  to  see  if  the  foot  of  her  skirt  hung  right.  Then 
several  large  pasteboard  boxes  had  to  be  hauled  from 
under  the  bed,  until  she  would  choose  her  headgear. 
Drawers  were  rummaged,  and  their  contents  strewn 
all  over  the  floor  in  a  search  for  bangles  and  neck  chains. 


LIZZIE  245 

By  the  time  she  was  ready  to  go  out,  it  was  almost 
time  for  me  to  go  home  again.  Time  never  seemed  to 
trouble  her.  She  went  in  at  the  front  door  at  ten  o'clock, 
then  after  everything  was  quiet,  slipped  out  at  the  back 
one,  and  came  in  when  she  chose.  At  least  so  she  had 
told  me.  I  never  had  been  her  companion  on  her  noc- 
turnal rambles. 

It  was  always  a  wonder  to  me  how  anyone  could  make 
such  a  work  about  their  personal  appearance.  I  liked 
to  go  out  tidy,  but  about  five  minutes  sufficed  for  my 
dressing. 

She  was  always  wanting  me  to  go  to  Edinburgh.  I 
was  very  anxious  to  see  the  Castle,  and  Holyrood  Pal- 
ace, but  I  did  not  think  I  could  afford  it.  At  last  I  did 
promise  to  go. 

I  told  Mrs.  and  Mr.  M— « —  I  was  going.     They 

said  they  were  sure  I  would  enjoy  it.    Mr.  M wrote 

me  out  a  programme  of  all  the  places  of  interest. 

It  seemed  such  a  big  thing  for  me  to  be  going  to  Edin- 
burgh, who  had  never  been  beyond  Glasgow  in  my  life, 
that  I  felt  quite  uplifted.  I  told  Meg  and  Ann,  but  I 
did  not  dare  tell  my  grandparents.  They  would  have 
been  angry  at  me  for  wasting  the  money.  Besides,  my 
grandmother  was  so  suspicious  she  would  have  made  my 
grandfather  believe  I  was  after  some  evil  purpose. 

The  day  arrived  and  off  we  went.  Lizzie  knew  a 
servant  in  Edinburgh  who  was  to  meet  us  at  the  station 
and  show  us  round.  When  we  arrived  at  the  station, 
she  was  not  there.  We  waited  a  while,  then  as  she  did 
not  appear,  Lizzie  said  we  would  go  to  her  place  and 
find  her.  We  got  into  a  car  and  went  a  long  distance, 
quite  out  of  Edinburgh  altogether. 


246         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

The  house  was  a  semi-detached  villa.  I  stood  back 
while  Lizzie  rang  the  bell.  A  woman  opened  the  door 
about  an  inch.  Before  Lizzie  had  time  to  say  half  a 
dozen  words,  the  woman  slammed  the  door  in  her  face. 
Back  she  came,  her  face  scarlet. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked,  in  surprise. 

"The  wizened  looking  wretch,  I  could  choke  her," 
she  exclaimed  furiously.  "She  must  have  thought  I  was 
begging.  She  says  'I've  nothing  for  you  to-day,'  and 
slammed  the  door  in  my  face." 

I  could  have  laughed  aloud.  What  a  drop  it  must 
have  been  to  Lizzie  to  be  taken  for  a  beggar,  and  her 
dressed  fit  to  kill. 

"She  must  surely  be  daft,"  I  said  solemnly. 

She  stood  hesitating,  and  darting  angry  looks  at  the 
closed  door. 

We  returned  to  Edinburgh  on  the  car.  I  began  to 
feel  very  depressed.  My  long  looked  for  day  was  slip- 
ping away,  and  I  had  seen  nothing.  It  was  coming  on 
for  late  afternoon.  There  was  a  dense  fog,  and  the 
Castle  was  only  a  blurred  outline.  We  went  into  a  res- 
taurant to  get  some  tea.  Lizzie  suggested  fish,  so  we 
had  a  helping  each.  When  the  bill  was  presented,  I 
was  horrified  to  find  that  it  was  over  three  shillings.  I 
knew  very  little  about  dining  out,  and  had  never  had 
anything  in  a  restaurant  before  but  a  cake  and  a  cup  of 
tea.  I  gave  Lizzie  my  half  of  the  bill,  but  it  left  me 
very  short  of  money. 

When  we  came  out,  Lizzie  wanted  to  buy  some  furs. 
By  the  time  she  had  got  suited,  it  was  almost  time  for  the 
train.  I  was  determined  to  see  something,  so  I  got  her, 
very  unwillingly,  to  go  to  the  Art  Galleries.  We  got 


LIZZIE  247 

there,  in  time  to  see  the  door  being  closed  for  the  day. 
Bitterly  disappointed,  I  turned  away.  Lizzie  wanted 
some  more  finery,  so  we  had  to  look  at  more  shops. 
Chancing  to  glance  at  a  clock,  I  saw  to  my  dismay  that 
we  had  only  about  ten  minutes  to  catch  our  train,  and 
we  were  a  good  distance  from  the  station. 

"We  must  rush,"  I  cried,  pulling  her  arm  frantically. 

"There's  no  use  of  hurrying,"  she  answered  indiffer- 
ently. "If  we  get  the  chance,  we'll  just  stay  the  night 
here." 

I  could  not  see  how  we  could  stay  the  night  in  a 
strange  place,  where  we  knew  nobody,  and  tried  to  pull 
her  on. 

"I  tell  you  there's  no  use  of  hurrying.  We  can't  get 
it,"  she  said  impatiently,  hanging  back. 

There  was  a  car  standing  a  short  distance  off. 

"We'll  get  the  car  to  the  station,"  I  exclaimed  eagerly. 

I  tried  to  pull  her  along,  but  she  would  not  be  hur- 
ried. Just  when  we  neared  the  car,  it  moved  off. 

"There  now,"  she  cried,  triumphantly,  "we  needn't 
bother." 

I  felt  perfectly  desperate,  and  letting  go  her  arm, 
made  a  wild  rush  after  the  car.  I  managed  to  get  it. 
When  I  looked  round,  Lizzie  was  standing  on  the  step 
behind  me,  looking  exceedingly  sulky.  We  were  any- 
thing but  jovial  on  the  journey  back. 

I  did  not  see  her  for  some  time  after  that.  The  next 
thing  I  heard  was  that  she  had  been  going  with  a  young 
man  for  about  a  month,  and  that  he  was  mad  for  her 
to  marry  him.  I  listened  to  her,  but  thought  it  was  just 
the  usual  story,  and  never  gave  the  matter  another 
thought. 


248         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

About  three  weeks  after,  I  happened  to  have  a  day 
off.  I  called  in  to  see  her  on  my  way  home.  I  found  her 
in  the  wash-house,  breaking  sticks.  She  was  untidier 
than  usual. 

"Hullo,"  she  said,  somewhat  drily.     "It's  you." 

"What  about  the  young  man  now?"  I  asked  joking- 
ly. "When's  the  marriage  coming  off?" 

"I  might  be  dead  for  all  you  would  care.  You  never 
troubled  yourself  coming  near  me,"  she  answered  sul- 
lenly. "I  was  married  yesterday." 

I  stared  at  her  in  amazement. 

"What?"  I  exclaimed.  "Married  yesterday?  But 
why  are  you  still  here  if  you  were  married?" 

I  thought  what  a  queer  bride  she  looked,  with  her 
dirty  wrapper  and  untidy  hair,  hacking  away  so  viciously 
at  the  sticks. 

"Oh,"  she  answered  coolly.  "I  may  as  well  make 
as  much  money  as  I  can." 

I  did  not  wait  long,  as  she  was  busy;  besides,  I  wanted 
to  get  outside  to  think  the  matter  over.  She  asked  me 
to  come  in  the  following  Sunday  and  see  her  hubby.  He 
could  slip  in  as  often  as  he  liked  at  the  back  door. 

On  the  Sunday,  feeling  kind  of  nervous,  I  tapped 
softly  at  the  back  door.  She  came  out  smiling,  and  led 
me  into  her  bedroom.  The  young  man  I  found,  was  tall 
and  rather  good  looking.  He  seemed  to  be  passion- 
ately in  love  with  her.  After  I  had  been  introduced, 
he  pulled  her  down  on  his  knee,  and  kept  kissing  her  all 
the  time.  It  simply  disgusted  me.  To  me,  there  would 
have  been  no  pleasure  in  a  caress  if  a  third  party  had 
been  looking  on.  I  got  so  sick  of  them,  that  I  did  not 
wait  any  time. 


LIZZIE  249 

I  wondered  how  long  it  would  last.  From  what 
Lizzie  had  told  me,  it  seemed  to  have  been  a  case  of 
love  at  first  sight  with  him. 

A  few  months  after  she  left  her  situation  and  got  a 
house  of  her  own.  I  visited  her  several  times  when  her 
husband  was  not  in.  Then  I  stopped  going  near  her  for 
about  a  year. 

One  day  I  took  a  fancy  to  go  and  see  her.  She  was 
a  bit  dry  at  first,  on  account  of  my  long  absence.  After 
a  little  she  came  round,  and  put  on  the  kettle  for  a  cup 
of  tea. 

When  we  had  had  a  cup,  I  asked  her  how  she  was 
getting  on  with  her  husband.  An  unhappy  look  came 
on  her  face,  and  she  began  to  cry.  She  said  he  was  very 
unkind  to  her,  and  accused  her  of  deceiving  him. 

She  showed  me  a  large  bruise.  I  gathered,  through 
a  storm  of  heart-rending  sobs,  that  it  had  been  acquired 
through  the  sudden  contact  with  the  toe  of  her  hus- 
band's boot. 

I  felt  a  great  pity  for  her,  and  tried  to  comfort  her  as 
well  as  I  could.  Poor  humanity.  It  made  me  sad  to 
think  that  that  was  the  end  of  love. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

BOOKS 

All  hail  ye  fields,  where  constant  peace  attends, 

All  hail,  ye  sacred  solitary  groves, 
All  hail,  ye  books,  my  true,  my  real  friends, 

Whose  conversation  pleases  and  improves. 

WALSH. 

THE  time  passed  very  quickly  at  Mrs.  M 's. 

Almost  before  I  was  aware  of  it,  two  summers  had 
gone.  Two  uneventful  years  they  had  been  for  me. 
I  felt  pretty  contented. 

Things  had  gone  just  as  usual  with  my  people.  Jack 
had  given  up  his  house  and  gone  to  stay  with  my  grand- 
parents. He  thought  it  would  make  it  easier  for  them 
if  he  paid  half  of  the  rent.  I  did  not  think  the  arrange- 
ment would  work  very  well.  My  sister-in-law  and  Meg 
were  too  quarrelsome.  Often  I  have  gone  down  and 
found  strained  relations  between  them.  It  worried  me 
a  great  deal,  because  I  knew  it  made  Jack  unhappy.  I 
used  to  make  myself  miserable,  and  think  of  all  sorts 
of  plans  to  make  them  friends  again.  Next  time  I  went 
down,  I  would  find  them  as  friendly  as  ever.  I  could 
not  understand  them  at  all. 

Sunday  was  a  day  I  disliked  very  much.  I  got  away 

from  Mrs.  M 's  after  dinner,  and  so  was  at  home 

for  the  rest  of  the  day.  There  was  no  use  of  me  talk- 

250 


BOOKS  251 

ing  to  Meg  and  Ann  of  the  things  I  cared  for.  It 
would  not  have  interested  them,  but  would  have  bored 
them  very  much.  Occasionally  I  took  down  a  book,  to 
try  to  get  Meg  to  read  it.  The  next  time  I  saw  her  I 
would  ask  her  how  she  liked  it. 

"I  never  looked  at  it,  I'm  sure,"  she  would  say  dis- 
gustedly. "I  wouldn't  be  bothered  reading  a  thick  book 
like  that." 

"But  it's  a  good  book,  by  one  of  the  best  authors," 
I  would  urge,  feeling  vexed  that  she  would  not  even  try 
to  read  it  to  improve  her  mind. 

"I  know  nothing  about  authors,  and  for  any  sake  take 
it  out  of  here,"  she  would  answer  impatiently. 

Sometimes  I  would  take  down  a  magazine,  and  read 
out  a  short  story  to  her  and  Ann.  I  think  Ann  enjoyed 
it  a  little,  but,  as  she  could  not  read,  she  may  not  have 
understood  it  very  well.  At  anyrate  she  tried  to  show 
an  interest. 

Meg  showed  little  or  no  interest  at  all.  Indeed  some- 
times she  shut  her  eyes  and  pretended  she  was  asleep. 
Then  I  would  get  hopeless  and  leave  off  altogether  in  the 
middle  of  a  story.  There  would  be  nothing  else  for  it 
but  to  endure  what  I  had  been  trying  desperately  to 
avoid,  that  was,  to  listen  to  a  lot  of  gossip.  I  hated 
gossip,  and  wondered  how  women  could  waste  their 
time  in  talking  about  their  neighbours'  affairs.  There 
were  so  many  things  of  infinite  more  interest  to  talk  of. 

Another  thing  that  Meg  and  I  always  disagreed  about 
was  the  subject  of  marriage.  Some  time  before  I  had 
been  introduced  to  a  young  man.  I  had  gone  out  with 
him  for  a  walk  several  times.  His  conversation  had 
not  the  slightest  interest  to  me. 


252          THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

He  told  me  so  many  lies  about  people  we  both  knew, 
that  I  dropped  his  company  altogether.  Meg  was  wild 
when  I  told  her. 

"You're  a  fool,"  she  said.  "I'm  sure  he  was  all  right. 
You  might  have  got  married;  then  you  would  not  have 
had  to  stay  in  service." 

"But,"  I  answered,  "I  would  much  rather  be  in  ser- 
vice than  be  married  to  anyone  like  him." 

"I  saw  nothing  wrong  with  him,"  she  returned  huf- 
fily. "He's  well  dressed  and  earns  a  good  wage.  What 
more  do  you  want?" 

"But  I  would  rather  work  than  marry  anyone  just  for 
the  sake  of  a  home,"  I  said. 

"I  never  knew  anyone  like  you  then,"  she  retorted. 
"All  the  girls  that  I  ever  knew  were  on  the  look  out  for 
someone  that  would  keep  them  from  working.  What  do 
you  mean  to  do  when  you  get  old  ?  Go  to  the  poorhouse, 
I  suppose." 

"Well,  if  it  should  come  to  that,  I  don't  know  if  I 
would  care,"  I  answered.  "I'm  not  going  to  worry 
about  that  though.  There's  always  the  chance  that  I 
might  die  before  I  was  quite  in  need  of  the  poorhouse." 

"You're  the  queerest  lassie  I  ever  knew,"  she  said 
impatiently.  "But  maybe  it's  some  educated  gentleman 
you're  looking  for.  If  that  is  the  case,  believe  me  you'll 
wait  long  enough.  You  might  be  thankful  to  get  a 
decent  working  fellow." 

"I'm  not  on  the  hunt  for  a  man,  decent  or  other- 
wise," I  returned  shortly,  beginning  to  feel  angry.  "I 
don't  see  why  you  should  get  so  mad  just  because  I  have 
a  different  opinion  of  the  matter  from  you.  I'm  quite 
prepared  to  work  all  my  life." 


BOOKS  253 

"So  am  I,"  she  said  quickly,  "but  if  I  can  manage  it, 
it'll  be  in  a  house  of  my  own.  I  must  say  you've  very 
little  spirit  or  pride,  if  you  would  prefer  to  slave  after 
another  woman  all  your  days,  rather  than  be  indepen- 
dent in  a  house  of  your  own." 

"But  I'm  not  slaving,"  I  objected.  "I'm  quite  happy 
at  my  work,  and  when  it  is  finished  I  have  books  to  read, 
and  loads  of  other  things  to  occupy  my  mind,  that  make 
me  far  happier  than  trailing  through  the  streets  flirting 
with  fellows  would." 

It  was  always  the  same  every  time  the  subject  came 
up..  I  hated  it.  I  always  got  the  worst  of  an  argument 
with  Meg.  She  succeeded  somehow  in  making  me  feel 
a  fool.  Ann  too  was  on  Meg's  side  of  the  question. 
She  was  too  much  of  an  invalid  to  have  quite  so  much 
to  say  on  the  matter.  What  she  did  say  backed  up 
Meg's  opinion.  I  could  not  see  at  all  why  a  woman 
should  marry  a  man  just  for  the  sake  of  a  home.  To 
me,  it  would  have  been  utter  misery.  I  had  the  feeling 
in  my  heart  that  wealth  and  idleness  brought  happiness 
to  no  one. 

I  had  never  been  well  dressed  in  my  life,  having  al- 
ways had  to  buy  the  cheapest  things  I  could  get.  Often, 
when  I  have  been  very  badly  needing  a  dress  or  some- 
thing, I  have  imagined  that  if  I  just  got  it  I  could  be  so 
happy.  When  I  did  get  it,  I  soon  began  to  realise  that 
the  getting  of  it  had  brought  me  no  lasting  pleasure. 

It  set  me  wondering  what  were  the  things  that  really 
did  make  for  happiness.  The  idea  grew  in  my  heart 
that  human  love  and  friendship  were  what  made  life 
worth  living.  I  tried  vainly  to  express  what  I  thought  to 
Meg  and  Ann,  but  I  could  not  make  them  understand. 


254.         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  asked  Mrs.  M one  day  what  she  thought.  It 

comforted  me  when  she  said  that  she  was  of  the  same 
opinion  as  myself.  Knowing  that  I  was  fond  of  pictures 
she  offered  to  give  me  some  lessons  in  painting. 

Afterwards,  when  I  had  progressed  a  little,  she  gave 
me  some  of  her  own  pictures  to  copy.  What  a  delight  it 
was  to  me.  One  picture  I  was  very  fond  of,  and  copied 
several  times.  It  was  of  Venice,  and  was  simply  a  blaze 
of  lovely  colour.  How  I  lived  in  that  picture.  I  would 
sit  and  look  at  it  so  long,  that  in  imagination  I  would  see 
the  Gondolas  gliding  past  the  old  Palaces,  the  beautiful 
occupants  lying  back  on  the  rich  cushions,  their  dark 
eyes  sparkling.  I  could  fancy  that  I  heard  the  soft 
music  of  the  Guitars,  and  rich  voices  singing  passionate 
love  songs. 

I  saw  the  doctor  pretty  frequently.  I  was  always 
needing  something  for  my  headaches,  and  I  was  glad  of 
the  excuse  to  have  a  chat  with  him.  I  told  him  I  was 
trying  to  paint,  and  described  the  picture  of  Venice.  He 
was  greatly  interested. 

"Do  these  things  make  you  happy,  Jean?"  he  asked, 
looking  at  me  intently  with  his  dark  eyes. 

"They  do,"  I  answered.     "Don't  you  like  pictures?" 

"I  do  very  much,"  he  replied.  "I  must  let  you  see 
the  pictures  in  the  dining  room  next  time  you  come 
down." 

"I  would  like  that,"  I  answered  eagerly.  I  was 
curious  to  know  what  kind  of  pictures  appealed  to  him. 

"Would  you  like  anything  to  read,  Jean?"  he 
asked. 

He  often  lent  me  books.  When  I  had  read  them,  he 
would  talk  them  over  with  me.  The  last  one  he  had 


BOOKS  255 

lent  me  had  been  one  of  Poe's.  I  could  not  read  it  to 
the  end,  it  got  so  on  my  nerves. 

"I  didn't  read  the  last  one  you  gave  me,"  I  said. 

"Why?"  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

"You  should  never  have  given  it  to  me  at  all,"  I  an- 
swered reproachfully.  "It  frightened  me  so  much  that 
I  couldn't  even  have  it  in  my  room  at  night.  I  took  it 
down  to  the  cellar,  and  put  it  into  an  old  box.  I  haven't 
gone  down  to  the  cellar  since,  after  dark." 

He  laughed  heartily. 

"I'm  sorry,  Jean,"  he  said  penitently.  "What  would 
you  like  then  ?" 

He  opened  the  bookcase  and  took  out  a  book  on 
travel  in  Japan. 

"Would  you  like  that?"  he  asked. 

"I  would,"  I  answered,  taking  it  from  his  hand. 

"I  hope  you  won't  bury  that  one  in  the  cellar,"  he 
said  with  an  amused  smile. 

"Oh,"  I  said  quickly,  "you  mentioning  burying  re- 
minds me  of  something  I  wanted  to  ask  you." 

"Well,  Jean,  out  with  it,"  he  laughed. 

He  sat  down  on  a  chair  beside  his  desk,  and  rested 
his  head  on  his  hand,  a  smile  hovering  round  his  lips. 

"How  do  people  take  death?"  I  asked.  "Are  they 
terrified,  or  what?  I  have  never  seen  anyone  die." 

The  smile  vanished  and  he  sat  up  in  his  chair. 

"It's  not  good  for  you  to  think  too  much  of  those 
things,"  he  said  quietly. 

"But  I  would  like  to  know,"  I  persisted. 

"Well,  Jean,  I  don't  think  they  realize  it,"  he  an- 
swered  thoughtfully.  "Generally,  they  pass  away 
quietly." 


256         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"What  do  you  think  happens  after  death?"  I  asked. 

"Do  you  know,  Jean,  I  sometimes  think  there  is 
nothing  at  all,"  he  said  slowly. 

"But  it  would  be  dreadful  to  think  that,"  I  answered. 
"What  would  be  the  use  of  anything?  We  might  lie, 
steal,  or  even  kill.  Nothing  would  matter.  What  do 
you  think  we  are  put  into  the  world  for?" 

"I  think,"  he  replied,  "that  we  are  just  here  to  do 
what  good  we  can.  To  live  as  clean  a  life  as  possible, 
and  that  is  all." 

"But,"  I  objected,  "what  would  it  matter  what  we 
did,  if  we  hadn't  to  give  an  account  of  it?  Then  when 
our  relations  die,  it  would  be  unbearable  if  it  wasn't  for 
the  thought  that  we  will  see  them  again." 

"Yes,  that's  true,  Jean,"  he  answered  thoughtfully. 
"It  wouldn't  be  nice  to  think  of  loved  ones  being  just 
pushed  into  the  ground  and  finished  with." 

"But  you  don't  really  think  that?"  I  asked  anxiously. 

"No,  I  don't,  Jean,"  he  returned  quickly.  "I  oughtn't 
to  have  said  it." 

When  I  had  left  him,  I  thought  a  great  deal  over 
what  he  had  said.  Many  a  time  when  I  had  felt  very 
unhappy  I  had  had  the  feeling  that  God  knew  and 
understood,  and  would  perhaps  send  me  happiness  some 
day.  I  felt  very  much  troubled  for  a  while.  My  doubts 
began  to  vanish  though  when  I  looked  at  the  beauty  of 
nature  all  round  me.  What  made  the  seasons  in  their 
turn?  The  birds  to  come  back  every  year?  What  was 
the  thing  called  conscience? 

I  do  not  know  how  anyone  can  look  round  and  doubt. 
Every  time  that  I  look  at  a  sunset  or  sunrise,  I  have  the 
feeling  that  there  is  One  who  knows  and  sees  all. 


BOOKS  257 

If  learning  is  only  to  raise  doubts,  then  I  would  rather 
be  ignorant  and  keep  my  humble  faith. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

I  BECOME  A  STEWARDESS 

What  are  another's  faults  to  me? 

I've  not  a  vulture's  bill 
To  peck  at  every  flaw  I  see 

And  make  it  wider  still. 

It  is  enough  for  me  to  know 

I've  follies  of  my  own, 
And  on  my  heart  the  care  bestow 

And  let  my  friends  alone. 

ANON. 

I  HADN'T  been  feeling  well  for  some  time.  Mrs. 

M thought  perhaps  a  change  might  help  me.  I 

suggested  that  if  I  could  get  on  a  river  steamer  for  the 
summer  months,  as  stewardess,  it  might  make  me  all 

right  again.  Mrs.  M thought  perhaps  Mr.  M — — 

could  manage  that  for  me,  and  she  would  get  someone 
else  unfil  I  came  back. 

It  was  too  soon  in  the  year  to  know  whether  there 
would  be  a  vacancy  or  not.  I  could  hardly  restrain  my 
impatience.  The  sea  had  a  strong  fascination  for  me, 
and  the  thought  of  living  on  it  for  a  whole  summer  de- 
lighted me. 

The  time  wore  on.  One  day  Mr.  M came  in  and 

said  I  was  to  go  and  see  the  superintendent  of  the  steam- 
boat company  the  following  afternoon. 

Next  day  I  dressed  myself  and  went  down  to  the  of- 

258 


I  BECOME  A  STEWARDESS  259 

fice.  I  was  engaged,  and  was  to  receive  notice  when  I 
was  to  take  up  my  duties.  I  also  got  a  note  to  a  large 
outfitting  establishment  for  my  uniform. 

I  went  there.  The  lady  who  measured  me,  a  dismal 
looking  piece  of  humanity,  with  eyes  like  steel,  and  a 
mouth  like  a  trap,  which  had  not  opened  once  during 
all  the  time  she  had  been  measuring  me,  informed  me 
stiffly,  when  I  was  putting  on  my  jacket  to  go,  that  I 
would  not  need  to  come  back  again.  The  uniform  would 
be  sent  to  the  Company's  office.  Evidently  she  was  such 
a  top  hand  at  her  business  that  she  did  not  need  even  to 
fit  on. 

I  was  disappointed,  as  I  had  been  dying  to  see  the 
uniform.  I  thought  I  was  going  to  be  a  great  swell  in 
my  blue  serge  and  brass  buttons. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  I  received  word  that  I  was  to 
join  the  steamer  Laura,  which  I  would  find  at  the  pier 
at  ten-thirty  the  following  morning,  and  take  up  my 
duties  as  stewardess  on  board. 

It  put  me  in  a  tearing  hurry,  as  it  was  such  short 
notice.  I  was  to  get  ten  shillings  a  week  and  my  food, 
which  I  thought  was  splendid. 

I  had  bought  a  cheap  bag,  the  first  I  had  ever  had  in 
my  life.  I  thought  it  would  not  be  the  thing  at  all  to 
take  my  things  there  in  a  parcel. 

The  following  morning,  Saturday,  I  started  off  carry- 
ing my  bag  and  feeling  very  excited.  Mrs.  M gave 

me  a  wave  from  the  window.  As  I  walked  on,  the  bag 
grew  heavier,  and  my  face  felt  like  to  burst.  When  I 
reached  the  pier,  the  Laura  was  just  being  tied  up  along- 
side. The  gangways  were  rattling  along  to  be  in  readi- 
ness. 


260         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  put  down  my  bag  and  turned  my  face  towards  the 
water.  I  wanted  to  cool  down  a  bit,  and  not  be  going 
on  board  with  my  face  like  a  tomato. 

When  the  passengers  were  all  oft"  I  stepped  on  board. 
I  felt  extremely  nervous.  Except  for  the  Sunday  school 
trips  I  had  only  been  on  a  steamer  four  times  in  my  life. 
Then,  of  course,  I  had  travelled  steerage.  I  did  not 
know  where  to  go.  I  went  hesitatingly  down  the  cabin 
stairs.  A  girl  was  coming  out  of  the  Saloon  with  her 
head  bare.  She  looked  at  me. 

"Are  you  the  new  stewardess?"  she  asked  inquir- 
ingly. 

"Yes,"  I  answered  quickly.  "Perhaps  you  could  tell 
me  where  to  go?" 

"Come  in  here,"  she  said,  pushing  open  a  door  in 
the  passage  which  led  into  the  Saloon.  "I'm  the  stall 
girl,  and  this  is  our  room." 

"Oh,  are  you?"  I  answered,  trying  hard  not  to  ap- 
pear self-conscious. 

It  was  a  nice  little  room.  There  were  two  bunks  be- 
hind the  door,  one  directly  above  the  other.  A  cush- 
ioned seat  ran  along  the  side  facing  the  passage.  In 
the  corner,  at  the  side  of  the  door,  was  a  mahogany  wash 
stand,  with  a  looking  glass  hanging  above  it.  A  silver 
swinging  lamp  completed  the  contents  of  the  room. 
The  walls  were  white  enamelled,  giving  it  a  cheery  look. 

I  put  down  my  bag  on  the  settee  and  turned  to  the 
girl,  to  find  her  eyeing  me  over  from  top  to  toe.  She 
was  tall,  and  rather  thin,  with  bold,  grey  eyes,  and  a 
highly  coloured  complexion.  Her  impudent  stare  dis- 
concerted me  very  much. 

"Will  you  sleep  in  the  low  bunk?"  she  asked. 


I  BECOME  A  STEWARDESS  261 

"It's  all  the  same  to  me,"  I  answered. 

"That's  all  right,  then,"  she  said,  "because  I  prefer 
the  top  one.  What's  your  name  ?" 

"Jean  Roy,"  I  returned. 

"Mine  is  Isa  Campbell,"  she  said.  "Sit  down  and 
we'll  have  a  chat  and  get  to  know  each  other." 

We  sat  down  on  the  settee,  and  she  resumed  her 
catechism. 

"Is  this  your  first  season  on  the  steamers?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

She  looked  pleased.  Evidently  she  was  anticipating 
the  pleasure  of  knocking  me  into  shape. 

"It's  my  third,"  she  said.  "I'll  show  you  what  to 
do.  What  did  you  work  at  before  you  came  here  ?" 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  If  I  said  I  was  a  ser- 
vant I  would  be  looked  down  upon  at  once.  I  felt  that 
with  a  girl  like  her  it  would  not  do  to  be  too  humble. 

"I  was  at  service,"  I  answered.  "I'm  going  back 
again  when  I  leave  here." 

"A  servant !"  she  sniffed.  "I  couldn't  stand  service. 
I  don't  work  in  the  winter.  I  stay  at  home  and  help 
mother." 

I  felt  crushed,  and  wondered  uneasily  what  question 
she  would  spring  on  me  next. 

"I've  got  to  earn  my  living  somehow,"  I  said. 

"My  father's  an  engineer,"  she  explained,  with  a 
toss  of  her  head.  "I  don't  need  to  work  in  the  winter. 
What  does  your  father  do?" 

That  was  a  poser.  To  admit  that  my  father  (mean- 
ing my  grandfather)  was  a  labourer,  would  stamp  me  as 
inferior  at  once.  However,  I  was  spared  answering 
just  then.  There  was  a  sharp  knock  at  the  door  and  a 


262          THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

man's   voice   asked — "Is  the   new   stewardess   here?" 

"That's  the  Chief  Steward,"  she  said,  hurriedly, 
opening  the  door. 

I  had  to  show  myself.  He  seemed  a  very  nice  man. 
He  asked  me  my  name.  When  I  told  him  he  looked  sur- 
prised. It  appeared  that  he  knew  Meg  and  Jack  very 
well.  He  seemed  quite  pleased  with  me,  and  asked  me 
to  go  into  the  saloon  with  him  as  he  wanted  to  give  me 
my  instructions.  I  went,  feeling  that  I  had  a  friend 
in  him. 

He  told  me  my  duties,  which  consisted  of  keeping 
the  saloon  in  order,  attending  to  the  two  tea  tables  that 
were  there,  and  looking  after  the  "ladies'  room." 

"And  mind,"  he  added  in  a  lowered  voice,  "don't 
let  her  boss  you.  She  has  nothing  to  do  with  you  at  all." 

He  nodded  significantly  towards  the  other  girl,  who 
was  standing  at  the  end  of  the  passage. 

A  boy  wearing  a  white  jacket  came  forward,  carry- 
ing a  parcel. 

"This  is  for  Miss  Roy,  Mr.  Mackay,"  he  said  to  the 
Chief  Steward. 

"Oh  yes,  it'll  be  your  uniform,"  said  the  Chief,  hand- 
ing the  parcel  to  me.  "You'd  better  put  it  on." 

I  disappeared  into  the  room,  with  it.  On  opening  the 
paper  I  found,  to  my  chagrin,  a  dress  cut  in  a  hideous, 
old  fashioned  style.  How  I  hated  to  put  it  on,  but  it 
had  to  be  done.  The  girl  came  in  to  see  how  it  looked. 

"Isn't  it  awful  like?"  I  said. 

"Oh,  they're  all  the  same,  ugly  looking  things,"  she 
answered.  "How  does  it  fit?" 

I  drew  it  on,  and  fastened  the  bodice.  Two  of  my 
size  could  have  got  into  it  every  way,  unless  around  the 


263 

neck.  There  it  felt  so  tight  I  felt  in  danger  of  strangu- 
lation. I  had  to  get  into  it  at  once,  so,  with  Isa's  help, 
and  a  dozen  or  two  of  pins,  I  got  it  to  look  kind  of 
passable. 

Isa  took  me  down  stairs  to  see  the  dining-saloon  and 
pantry.  I  thought  the  tables  elegant  with  their  glitter- 
ing silver  and  graceful  plants.  The  pantry  seemed 
rather  stuffy.  She  introduced  me  to  the  pantryman,  and 
two  of  the  stewards.  I  felt  interested  in  the  pantryman. 
He  seemed  a  bit  of  a  character.  A  pair  of  bright, 
twinkling  eyes  gave  his  face  a  youthful  look.  I  think 
he  would  be  about  sixty. 

"How  do  you  think  you'll  like  this  job?"  he  asked 
me. 

"Oh,  I  think  I'll  like  it  all  right,"  I  answered.  I 
turned  to  have  a  better  view  of  the  place  and  half  a 
dozen  pins  penetrated  my  skin. 

"What's  wrong?"  exclaimed  the  pantryman.  "Have 
you  a  pain?" 

"It's  this  abominable  uniform,"  I  answered  im- 
patiently. "It  was  so  big  I  had  to  pin  it  on." 

"Oh,  they  always  make  them  like  that,"  he  explained 
solemnly.  I  noticed  him  winking  slyly  at  the  stewards. 
"You  see  you  get  such  good  meat  here,  if  the  clothes 
weren't  made  big  you  might  burst  them  before  the  end 
of  the  season." 

"Oh,  shut  up,  and  make  us  a  cup  of  tea,"  interrupted 
Isa,  "I'm  dying  for  a  cup.  Come  on  Johnny,  hurry  up." 

"Go  to  the  devil  and  make  it  yourself,"  retorted 
Johnny  quickly.  He  went  over  to  the  sink  and  made  a 
tremendous  rattling  at  the  dishes. 

Isa  made  the  tea.     While  we  were  drinking  it  the 


264         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Captain  came  down.  He  was  a  stout,  jolly  looking  man. 
Following  on  his  heels  came  the  two  pursers  and  one  of 
the  engineers.  I  felt  very  timid  as  I  had  never  worked 
among  men  before. 

I  was  introduced  and  found  them  all  very  nice.  Each 
took  a  cup  in  his  hand  and  never  bothered  about  a 
saucer.  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  men  were  so  fond 
of  tea.  They  had  it  between  all  the  meals.  It  was  the 
first  thing  before  their  eyes  were  right  open  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  last  thing  before  going  to  bed  at 
night. 

We  were  each  supposed  to  wash  our  own  cup.  Old 
Johnny  the  pantryman  made  a  row  about  it  if  we  did 
not. 

At  one  o'clock  the  dinner  bell  rang.  I  went  down- 
stairs with  Isa.  I  was  glad  to  find  that  we  were  first. 
The  mess  table  was  next  the  pantry.  We  were  lying 
at  a  pier,  so  everyone  could  get  down  at  once.  Mr. 
Mackay  gave  me  a  seat  at  the  end  of  the  table.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  others  came  down.  The  two  pursers 
sat  at  my  side,  and  the  Captain,  Mr.  Mackay,  and  the 
two  engineers  and  Isa  on  the  other.  I  was  glad  Isa  was 
opposite  me,  as  I  hated  to  take  my  food  with  strangers. 
Isa,  of  course,  was  a  stranger  too,  but  I  did  not  mind 
her  as  much  as  the  men. 

We  had  soup,  a  fish  course,  a  meat  course,  and  pud- 
ding. I  felt  so  nervous  I  could  hardly  eat  anything. 

"Come  on,  my  lassie,  eat  up  your  dinner,  and  don't 
be  sitting  picking  at  it  like  a  hen,"  cried  the  Captain 
with  a  laugh  from  the  top  of  the  table. 

That  attracted  the  attention  of  the  others  and  they 
began  to  chaff  me.  It  embarrassed  me  very  much.  I 


I  BECOME  A  STEWARDESS  265 

was  exceedingly  glad  when  it  was  over  and  I  could  go 
upstairs  again. 

Isa  and  I  went  into  our  room  to  have  a  talk.  I  got 
the  character  of  all  our  companions  at  the  mess  table. 
Between  her  and  one  of  them  it  appeared  there  was  a 
deadly  enmity. 

"Did  you  notice  him?"  she  asked.  "Why,  he  does  not 
even  know  how  to  sit  at  a  table.  He  eats  like  a  pig. 
He's  a  beast  anyway." 

"I  never  noticed.  I  didn't  like  to  look  down  the 
table,"  I  answered  evasively. 

I  felt  very  uncomfortable.  I  began  to  wonder  if  I 
had  taken  my  food  in  the  proper  way.  Perhaps  she 
thought  I  ate  like  a  pig  too,  and  was  just  taking  this  way 
of  showing  me  that  she  knew  what  was  right  and  proper, 
to  make  me  realise  my  inferiority. 

"But  how  does  he  not  eat  properly?"  I  asked  humbly. 
"He  seems  a  gentleman." 

"He  thinks  he  is,"  she  answered  sarcastically,  "but 
he  isn't.  He  doesn't  even  know  how  to  take  soup  prop- 
erly. He  always  takes  from  the  front,  instead  of  the 
side  of  his  spoon." 

I  felt  my  face  burn.  I  had  taken  my  soup  from  the 
front  of  my  spoon  too.  I  felt  annoyed  because  I  was 
sure  she  had  only  learnt  that  was  the  proper  way  through 
watching  the  passengers  in  the  dining  saloon,  and  not 
from  a  superior  upbringing  as  she  would  have  me  be- 
lieve. 

"Another  thing  he  does  too,"  she  went  on,  "he  leans 
his  elbows  on  the  table." 

It  was  a  habit  I  had  myself,  so  I  thought  I  would  be 
more  careful  in  future.  I  did  not  mind  about  her,  but 


266         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  had  a  keen  dislike  of  appearing  underbred  before  the 
others  at  table. 

It  was  a  very  busy  day  and  passed  quickly.  It  was 
between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  before  we  finished 
for  the  night.  The  cleaning  in  the  steward  department 
was  all  left  over  for  the  Sunday.  It  was  electric  light  we 
had  on  board,  and  after  the  sailors  had  washed  the  decks, 
it  was  turned  off  altogether.  How  dark  everything  was. 
I  was  afraid  to  move  in  case  I  would  fall  over  some- 
thing. All  the  men  went  along  to  the  fore-cabin  to 
smoke  or  play  cards.  We  lit  the  lamp  in  our  room, 
and  locked  the  door  for  the  night. 

The  Captain's  room  was  next  ours.  The  rest  of  the 
officers  slept  for'ard. 

"I'm  glad  the  Captain  is  next  door,"  I  remarked  to 
Isa.  "It  does  not  seem  so  lonely." 

We  had  taken  some  bread  and  butter  up  to  our  room, 
as  we  thought  we  would  enjoy  it  better  at  our  leisure 
there.  Isa  had  pinched  a  tomato  from  old  Johnny's 
private  store.  We  divided  it,  and  sat  down  on  the  set- 
tee to  have  our  supper. 

"It's  lucky  we  have  a  room  at  all,"  answered  Isa,  as 
she  spread  the  tomato  on  her  bread  with  the  end  of  a 
spoon,  nothing  else  being  available.  "In  most  of  the 
other  steamers  the  girls  have  to  sleep  in  the  saloon  or 
'ladies'  cabin.'  We  didn't  use  to  have  one  either.  This 
was  the  purser's  room,  but  something  happened  last 
summer.  After  that  the  purser  got  a  room  for'ard, 
and  we  got  this  one.  I  wasn't  on  the  Laura  last  sum- 
mer, but  I  heard  all  about  it." 

"But  what  happened?"  I  asked  curiously. 

She  came  closer  to  me. 


I  BECOME  A  STEWARDESS  267 

"The  stewardess  was  found  dead  one  morning,"  she 
said,  in  an  awed  whisper. 

"What!"  I  exclaimed,  feeling  very  much  startled. 

"Sh,  don't  speak  so  loud,  or  the  Captain'll  hear  you," 
she  warned  me.  "I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"But  I  never  heard  any  rumour  of  that,"  I  said  in 
surprise. 

"Oh  no,"  she  returned,  "it  was  kept  very  quiet.  At 
the  time  it  happened  there  was  only  one  girl  on  board. 
One  morning,  she  didn't  appear.  The  steward  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  'ladies'  cabin'  where  she  slept,  but  got 
no  answer.  At  last  they  began  to  suspect  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  and  burst  open  the  door.  They  found 
her  lying  on  the  floor  at  the  washstand,  stone  dead. 
Lying  beside  her,  also  dead,  was  a  new  born  baby." 

"That  was  dreadful,"  I  said,  feeling  frightened. 

She  told  me  a  few  other  things  about  the  affair  that 
made  me  shiver. 

We  went  to  bed  but  it  was  hours  before  I  slept.  I 
could  not  get  the  story  Isa  had  told  me  out  of  my  head. 
The  door  of  the  "ladies'  cabin"  was  right  opposite  ours. 
I  pictured  to  myself  the  agony  of  that  poor  soul,  dying 
there  alone,  and  thought  she  surely  must  haunt  it.  I 
had  the  dreadful  feeling  that  the  scene  was  reacted  every 
night. 

All  the  time  I  was  on  the  Laura,  nothing  would 
have  induced  me  to  go  over  there  after  dark. 

Some  time  after  I  met  a  young  married  woman  on  the 
Laura  who  had  been  a  stewardess  in  the  company 
when  the  thing  happened.  She  said  she  had  been  sent 
on  in  the  dead  girl's  place,  and  that  they  had  the  nerve 
to  ask  her  to  sleep  in  the  "ladies'  cabin." 


268         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

"And  did  you  do  it?"  I  asked  in  surprise. 

"Indeed  I  did  not,"  she  answered  emphatically.  "I 
wouldn't  have  done  it  for  anything.  I'd  have  left  the 
company  first." 


THE  MOTOR  LAUNCH 

The  sun  is  up  again,  the  dewy  morn, 

With  breath  all  incense,  and  with  cheek  all  bloom, 
Laughing  the  clouds  away  with  playful  scorn, 

And  living  as  if  earth  contain  d  no  tomb — 

And  glowing  into  day. 

BYRON. 

NEXT  morning  I  was  awakened  by  the  rattling  of 
chains,  and  a  heavy  footstep  walking  across  the  deck 
overhead.  After  a  while  all  was  silent.  The  sun  was 
shining  in  at  the  window,  and  the  water  made  a  gentle, 
rippling  sound  against  the  sides  of  the  boat.  I  thought 
it  delightful.  Isa's  story  of  the  night  before  came  into 
my  head,  but  somehow  it  did  not  seem  so  dreadful  in 
the  bright  sunlight. 

I  lay  still,  feeling  quite  happy.  I  did  not  hear  a 
sound  of  anyone  moving  about.  Suddenly,  the  bell  rang 
loudly.  A  body  flashed  in  front  of  my  bed,  and  Isa 
landed  heavily  on  the  floor. 

"What's  wrong,"  I  cried  in  alarm,  jumping  up  quick- 
ly, and  landing  myself  a  tremendous  bump  on  the  head 
against  the  top  bunk. 

"That's  the  breakfast  bell,"  she  answered,  making  a 
grab  at  her  clothes. 

"What,"  I  cried  in  dismay,  "I'll  never  be  ready  in 
time."  I  rolled  out  of  bed  sideways  in  a  tremendous 

269 


270          THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

hurry.  Isa  was  standing  right  in  front  of  my  bed,  with 
her  back  towards  me.  She  did  not  know  I  was  rising, 
and  I  collided  against  her  with  such  force,  that  she 
fell  heavily  on  top  of  me. 

"You  might  have  waited  until  I  had  got  some  of  my 
clothes  on  before  you  got  up,"  she  said  crossly.  "There's 
not  room  for  two  of  us  to  dress  at  one  time.  We  don't 
need  to  bother  much  about  dressing  on  Sunday  morning 
anyway." 

"Oh,"  I  answered,  "so  that  was  the  reason  you  flew 
over  the  bed  so  quick  when  the  bell  rang.  "I'll  just  be 
as  sly  the  next  time." 

She  laughed.  Very  soon  we  were  ready.  She  opened 
the  door  and  we  went  downstairs.  Not  a  soul  was  at 
the  table.  Old  Johnny  and  the  boy  were  in  the  pantry. 

"Hullo,"  exclaimed  Johnny,  looking  at  Isa  and  me. 
"The  women  are  always  first  when  there's  any  grub 
goin'." 

"Oh,  you're  always  girning,"  returned  Isa.  "If  we're 
down  soon  it's  a  fault,  and  if  we're  late,  we're  lazy 
beasts." 

Johnny  winked  at  me  behind  her  back. 

"Well,  Miss  Roy,  how  do  you  think  you'll  stick  it?" 
he  asked. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  I  answered.  "But  where's  all  the 
officers?" 

"The  lazy  B s,  they're  no'  out  of  bed  yet,"  he 

said.    "Here,  Jimmy,"  to  the  boy,  "take  this  bell,  and 

knock  H out  of  it  at  the  pursers'  door,  and  see  if 

that'll  shift  them." 

Jimmy  was  a  boy  about  fourteen,  with  a  childish,  in- 
nocent looking  face. 


THE  MOTOR  LAUNCH  271 

"I  will  not,"  he  answered  stubbornly.  "Go  yourself. 
I  was  there  already." 

"Do  what  I  tell  you,"  said  Johnny,  with  rising  anger. 

"I  told  you  I  wasn't  goin',  and  I'm  not  goin',"  an- 
swered the  boy  cheekily,  retreating  quickly  out  of  the 
pantry. 

"If  you  don't  go  this  minute,  I'll  tear  the  thrapple 
out  of  you,"  cried  Johnny,  now  mad  with  anger. 

"Will  you !"  returned  the  boy  viciously,  "and  I'll  lift 
a  plate  and  brain  you." 

I  looked  on  in  amazement.  I  wondered  how  the  boy 
could  have  the  impudence  to  cheek  up  to  a  man  the  way 
he  did. 

Johnny  made  a  grab  for  a  stick  that  was  lying  near. 
The  boy  quickly  seized  a  plate,  and  threw  it  with  savage 
force  into  the  pantry.  He  then  flew  up  the  stair.  The 
plate  just  skiffed  Johnny's  head,  and  smashed  into  pieces 
against  the  wall. 

"You  young  scoundrel,  you'll  live  to  be  hanged  yet," 
shouted  Johnny  furiously  up  the  stair.  "Damn  the  bit 
of  breakfast  will  you  get.  If  you  show  your  face  down 
here  the  day,  I'll  knock  you  stiff." 

"He's  a  bad  boy  that,"  I  said  to  Johnny. 

"Bad,"  answered  Johnny  bitterly,  "I'll  live  to  see 
that  boy  hanged  yet." 

I  did  not  wonder  he  was  angry.  I  soon  found  out  he 
was  right.  I  never  in  my  life  came  across  such  an  evil- 
tongued,  lying  boy. 

In  a  short  time  the  engineers  came  down  the  stair; 
then  the  pursers,  collarless,  and  very  sleepy  looking,  and 
Mr.  Mackay.  The  second  steward,  Frank,  his  name 
was,  came  hurrying  down  at  their  heels  to  wait  the  table. 


272         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  wanted  to  rise  and  get  my  own  plate,  but  Isa  would 
not  let  me. 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  whispered.  "If 
you  begin  that,  they'll  always  expect  us  to  do  it.  We've 
as  much  right  to  be  attended  to  as  the  men." 

We  were  just  beginning  breakfast  when  the  Captain 
came  tramping  down  the  stair. 

"Good-morning,"  he  said  cheerily.  "Do  you  know, 
it's  a  funny  thing,  but  there's  an  awful  lot  of  sleep  in 
that  room  of  mine." 

Everybody  laughed.  His  hair  was  standing  on  end, 
and  his  eyes  were  swollen  in  his  head. 

He  joked  all  through  the  meal  and  kept  everyone 
cheery.  Isa  and  I  went  up  on  deck  when  we  had  fin- 
ished and  left  the  others  yarning  at  the  table.  It  was  a 
lovely  morning,  and  the  water  was  as  smooth  as  glass. 
The  woods  and  hills  were  reflected  with  marvellous 
clearness.  Two  fishing  boats,  a  short  distance  away, 
gave  the  finishing  touch  to  the  scene.  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  anything  so  beautiful  before. 

By  and  by  the  others  strolled  up  from  the  dining- 
saloon  and  smoked  and  chatted  beside  us.  I  kept  in 
the  background  as  much  as  possible.  Isa  and  I  soon 
went  to  our  work. 

It  amused  me  to  see  men  doing  women's  work.  And 
what  a  fuss  they  made  about  it.  One  woman  would 
have  done  as  much  in  a  day  as  any  of  them  would  have 
got  over  in  three. 

Isa  and  I  got  finished  and  dressed  ourselves  before 
dinner.  I  went  downstairs  and  of  course  got  some- 
thing to  do  at  once.  Isa  was  better  up  to  it  than  me, 
and  kept  up  an  appearance  of  being  employed.  After- 


THE  MOTOR  LAUNCH  273 

wards  I  learnt  the  tip  too.  It  was  not  that  we  minded 
helping  them  downstairs,  but  that  we  got  no  thanks 
for  it. 

The  men  wasted  their  time  yarning  while  we  were 
working  hard,  then  they  thought  that  we  should  do 
their  work  for  them. 

They  are  all  the  same,  they  think  that  women  should 
never  be  done.  We  were  always  working  for  Johnny, 
but  the  more  we  did,  the  more  we  were  expected  to  do. 

"Come  and  see  the  galley  and  the  'glory  hole',"  said 
Isa  to  me. 

"What's  the  'glory  hole'?"  I  asked  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  that's  where  the  stewards  sleep,"  she  answered. 

The  galley,  I  found  was  dreadfully  hot.  I  wondered 
how  anyone  could  stand  such  a  heat  all  day.  The  cook 
was  a  very  nice,  quiet  young  man. 

We  went  downstairs  to  the  fore-saloon,  and  looked 
in  at  the  "glory  hole"  door.  The  room  was  not  any 
bigger  than  ours  I  think,  and  there  were  six  beds  in  it. 
Two,  one  above  the  other,  round  three  sides  of  the 
room.  It  was  dark  and  stuffy. 

The  dinner  bell  rang  and  we  had  to  hurry  up  the 
stair.  The  pursers  had  got  tidied  up  a  bit,  but  the  oth- 
ers were  just  as  they  had  been  in  the  morning.  After 
dinner,  they  all  went  into  the  saloon  to  sit  and  chat.  I 
felt  too  backward  to  sit  among  them,  so  I  slipped  into 
my  room  and  shut  the  door.  In  a  few  minutes  Isa  came 
in  and  pretended  to  be  looking  for  something. 

"Are  you  not  coming  into  the  saloon  beside  us?"  she 
asked. 

"I  don't  like  to,"  I  answered.  "I  would  rather  sit 
here." 


274         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

She  went  out  and  closed  the  door.  In  a  few  minutes 
it  opened  stealthily,  and  the  assistant  purser's  face  ap- 
peared. I  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Without  any 
warning,  he  dashed  into  the  room,  lifted  me  up  in  his 
arms,  carried  me  into  the  saloon,  and  set  me  down  on 
the  Captain's  knee.  Everyone  laughed  and  chaffed  me 
unmercifully.  After  a  minute,  when  I  felt  the  Captain's 
grip  relax,  I  got  up  and  slipped  back  to  my  room  again. 
Very  soon  though,  I  got  on  easy  terms  with  them  all. 

The  men,  I  gathered,  had  an  exceedingly  poor  opin- 
ion of  women. 

"I  wouldn't  trust  a  woman  as  far  as  I  could  throw 
her,"  I  heard  an  officer  say.  "They're  as  sly  as  the 
devil.  You  never  can  get  to  the  bottom  of  them." 

"That's  true,"  remarked  Frank,  the  steward.  "You 
never  can  tell  what  they're  up  to." 

"A  man  doesn't  even  know  his  own  wife,  no,  not  if 
he  was  married  to  her  for  fifty  years,"  went  on  the  of- 
ficer, warming  to  his  subject. 

"They're  so  innocent,  to  look  at  them,  and  even  the 
best  of  them  could  buy  and  sell  a  man  any  day." 

That  was  the  opinion  of  all  the  men,  as  far  as  I 
could  gather.  One  thing  which  surprised  me  very  much, 
was  to  find  that  men  were  so  petted.  If  Isa  or  I  chanced 
to  say  a  word  thoughtlessly  they  would  be  off  in  the 
huff  for  a  week.  It  disappointed  me,  because  somehow, 
I  had  thought  them  so  different. 

I  was  only  on  the  Laura  a  fortnight  when  Mr. 
Mackay  got  word  that  he  was  to  be  shifted  to  another 
boat. 

He  went  ashore  at  tea  time.  Isa  and  I  were  sitting 
in  our  room  talking  and  wondering  when  the  new  stew- 


THE  MOTOR  LAUNCH  275 

ard  would  arrive,  when  the  door  opened  suddenly.  A 
man  stepped  in,  shut  the  door  quickly  behind  him, 
squeezed  himself  in  between  us  on  the  settee  and  put 
an  arm  round  each  of  us. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  "how  will  I  do  for  the 
new  boss?" 

He  was  a  good  looking  man,  and  suited  his  uniform 
very  well,  but  I  was  not  taken  with  his  familiar  ways  at 
all.  We  sat  and  talked  until  someone  came  to  the  door, 
then  we  got  rid  of  him. 

The  night  after  the  new  Chief  came  we  happened  to 
be  lying  at  a  pier.  Isa  and  I  went  for  a  walk.  We  met 

Mr.  B ,  one  of  our  officers,  with  a  gentleman  Isa 

knew.  They  came  over  to  speak  to  us.  The  gentle- 
man, I  noticed,  had  some  drink.  He  would  insist  on  us 
going  for  a  sail  on  his  motor  launch.  I  did  not  want  to 
go  at  all,  besides,  it  was  coming  on  for  ten  o'clock.  Isa 
was  wild  at  me.  She  said  I  was  silly,  and  that  if  I  did 
not,  she  could  not  go  either.  At  last  I  consented. 

We  had  to  go  out  in  a  small  boat  to  get  to  the  launch. 
When  we  were  stepping  into  the  little  boat,  I  noticed 
that  the  man  was  far  drunker  than  I  had  imagined.  I 
thought  what  fools  we  were. 

It  was  fearfully  cold  on  the  launch.  The  men  put 
up  a  tarpaulin  against  the  wind,  but  it  did  not  help 
much. 

Darkness  had  fallen,  and  we  could  make  out  nothing 
but  the  dark  mass  of  the  hills,  with  here  and  there  a 
light  twinkling  in  some  lonely  house.  We  could  not  see 
any  distance  in  front  of  us,  and  I  was  expecting  every 
minute  that  we  would  be  dashed  into  something  and 
drowned.  The  wind  rose,  flapping  the  tarpaulin  into 


276         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

our  faces.  I  felt  a  perfect  loathing  for  the  man.  He 
was  sitting  at  my  side,  and  the  whiff  I  got  of  his  breath 
occasionally,  disgusted  me. 

On  and  on  we  went.  Several  times  we  asked  him  to 
turn  but  he  paid  no  attention. 

"What's  the  use  of  going  back?"  he  said  drunkenly. 
"We'll  go  ashore,  a  bit  further  on.  I  know  a  house 
where  we  can  make  a  night  of  it." 

At  last,  after  a  great  deal  of  persuasion,  Mr.  B — — 
did  get  him  advised  to  turn. 

When  we  were  stepping  into  the  small  boat,  out  of 
the  launch  the  man  suddenly  began  to  choke,  and  his 

face  turned  purple.  Mr.  B looked  terribly  scared, 

and  had  an  awful  job  to  get  him  round. 

What  a  relief  it  was  to  get  on  shore  again.  It  was 
about  eleven  o'clock  when  we  got  to  the  Laura. 

"My  God,"  said  Mr  B ,  "I  was  sure  he  was  done 

for  when  he  began  choking.  He'll  never  be  nearer 
death.  It  was  just  touch  and  go.  You  girls  may  be 
jolly  thankful  that  it  was  me  who  was  with  you  to- 
night." 

We  slipped  on  board  quietly.  Everyone  else  seemed 
to  be  in  bed.  Next  morning  I  told  the  others  all  about  it. 

"Mercy,  I  wish  you  had  held  your  tongue.  There 
was  no  need  to  let  them  know  about  it,"  said  Isa 
crossly. 

"I'm  sure  it  did  not  matter  who  knew,"  I  answered. 

She  gave  an  impatient  exclamation,  and  turned  away. 

The  new  steward  turned  out  all  right.  He  was 
cheery,  but  very  fiery  tempered.  He  had  a  habit  of 
opening  our  door  at  any  time  without  knocking,  and 
coming  in.  One  or  two  of  the  others  got  into  the  habit 


THE  MOTOR  LAUNCH  277 

also.  Johnny  would  come  to  borrow  a  needle.  Some- 
one else  would  want  a  button,  or  a  pair  of  scissors,  and 
so  on.  They  seemed  to  think  we  had  an  endless  supply 
of  everything.  Isa  and  I  got  that  we  never  went  into 
our  room  for  even  five  minutes  without  locking  the 
door  inside. 

The  busy  season  came  on,  and  we  were  to  take  up 
other  sailings  for  a  week.  The  night  before  we  went 
away  we  got  on  a  lot  of  extra  hands  in  the  steward  de- 
partment. A  wild  lot  they  were,  most  of  them. 

Our  new  sailing  ground  was  near  the  open  sea. 
When  we  arrived  there,  the  weather  had  broken  down. 
There  was  a  good  wind,  and  the  sea  was  very  heavy. 
We  were  not  long  at  the  pier  until  we  were  loaded  up 
with  passengers.  We  had  a  band  on  board  which  made 
things  lively. 

As  soon  as  we  had  left  the  pier,  the  Laura  began 
to  heave  badly.  When  we  got  into  the  open  sea,  it  was 
much  worse.  The  rain  came  down  in  torrents  and  the 
passengers  crowded  into  the  saloon.  The  place  was 
simply  crammed. 

I  heard  a  smashing  of  dishes  in  the  dining-saloon, 
and  went  down  to  see  what  it  was.  The  stewards  were 
flying  about  gathering  up  the  remains  of  crockery,  which 
had  slipped  off  the  table  with  the  lurching  of  the  boat. 
The  chief  was  swearing  awful.  I  was  feeling  kind  of 
squeamish,  but  I  could  not  help  laughing.  He  looked 
at  me  a  minute. 

"Heavens,  you'll  not  be  in  a  laughing  mootl  long,  I 
know  by  the  colour  of  your  face,"  he  said,  with  a 
grin. 

"Don't  you  worry,  I'm  all  right,"  I  answered. 


278          THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  was  startled  by  a  tremendous  smash  up  in  the 
saloon. 

"That's  your  little  lot  gone,"  cried  one  of  the  stew- 
ards with  a  laugh. 

I  ran  quickly  upstairs,  to  find  almost  the  entire  con- 
tents of  my  two  tables  on  the  floor — butter,  sugar,  milk, 
cakes  and  broken  dishes  all  mixed  up  together.  I  stood 
and  stared  helplessly  at  the  mess.  The  contents  of  one 
of  the  milk  jugs  had  landed  neatly  in  a  lady's  lap. 

She  began  to  abuse  me  for  not  looking  after  my 
tables  better.  I  said  nothing,  because  I  thought  by  the 
greenish  pallor  on  her  face  that  she  would  not  talk 
much  longer.  I  rushed  into  my  room  with  an  armful 
of  the  dishes  that  were  not  broken.  When  I  returned 
to  the  saloon,  the  lady  was  sitting  groaning,  with  her 
head  hanging  over  the  seat.  I  pushed  a  sick  pan  under 
her  nose,  and  left  her  to  her  fate. 

The  Chief  told  me  to  put  a  thick  wedge  of  paper 
under  the  cloth  along  each  side  of  my  tables.  I  soon 
got  everything  ready  again.  The  paper  was  a  great 
help,  but  I  had  always  to  be  on  the  watch. 

The  passengers  began  to  crowd  in  for  tea.  I  had  to 
go  downstairs  for  everything  I  needed,  wash  up  my 
dishes,  and  be  ready  to  mark  the  checks,  take  the  money, 
and  watch  that  no  one  got  off  without  paying.  Also,  I 
had  to  attend  to  the  "ladies'  room,"  give  clean  towels, 
and  get  spirits  from  the  bar  for  whoever  wanted  it.  It 
kept  me  tremendously  busy. 

Very  soon  everyone  was  sick.  Ladies  were  lying  all 
over  the  place.  In  some  cases  their  relations  were 
bending  over  them,  as  if  taking  a  last  farewell.  It  made 
me  wild  to  look  at  some  of  them.  They  did  not  seem  to 


THE  MOTOR  LAUNCH  279 

care  what  kind  of  mess  they  made.  The  place  was  aw- 
ful. I  had  become  dreadfully  sick  myself,  but  I  just  had 
to  go  on  with  my  work.  Even  the  stewards  were  sick. 
They,  occasionally,  relieved  each  other,  and  lay  down  a 
little. 

Downstairs  it  was  perfect  pandemonium.  When  I 
went  to  the  pantry  window  for  tea,  there  would  be  half 
a  dozen  stewards  round  it,  shouting  out  their  orders. 
What  a  swearing  there  was.  Johnny  would  not  pay  the 
slightest  attention  to  me.  There  were  three  serving  out 
in  the  pantry,  but  they  were  all  so  excited  they  got  in 
each  other's  way. 

Johnny  had  put  the  counter  down  across  the  door,  so 
we  could  not  get  in  for  anything.  I  would  make  a  fran- 
tic endeavour  to  get  my  teapot  filled. 

"Go  to  H ,"  he  would  snap  viciously  at  me. 

Then  I  would  dive  under  the  counter  when  his  back 
was  turned,  grab  a  teapot  and  dash  out  again.  If  he 
happened  to  get  a  glimpse  of  me,  he  got  mad  with  fury. 
The  curses  he  heaped  on  me  were  awful.  I  did  not 
care  as  long  as  I  had  got  what  I  wanted.  Sometimes  a 
steward  would  bang  up  against  me  and  upset  the  hot 
tea  over  my  hands.  We  took  no  notice  of  such 
trifles. 

The  superintendent  had  come  with  us  to  see  that  all 
was  right.  He  stopped  me  in  the  passage  one  time  I 
was  flying  past. 

"I  think,  Miss  Roy,  you'd  be  the  better  of  someone 
to  give  you  a  hand,"  he  said. 

"I  would  indeed,"  I  answered. 

He  went  off,  promising  to  send  one  of  the  boys  at 
once.  In  a  few  minutes  a  boy  came  to  my  room.  I  gave 


280         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

him  a  dish  towel,  and  told  him  to  dry  some  cups  as 
quick  as  possible. 

He  was  at  the  third  one  when  the  Chief  threw  open 
the  door. 

als  the  boy  here?"  he  called  angrily.  "Damn  you, 
what  the  blazes  are  you  doing  here?  Beat  it  down  the 
stair.  We  need  you." 

The  boy  ran  past  him  and  hurried  below. 

"But  the  superintendent  said  I  was  to  get  him,"  I  ob- 
jected. 

"I  don't  give  a  damn,"  he  retorted,  "we're  rushed 
downstairs,  and  I  want  him." 

There  was  no  use  of  arguing.  I  turned  away  in  dis- 
gust, and  made  a  furious  onslaught  on  my  dishes.  A 
man  came  to  the  door  asking  for  a  pillow  for  someone 
that  was  sick.  I  could  have  thrown  a  plate  at  his  head. 
I  thought  they  might  have  been  jolly  thankful  to  get 
lying  without  a  pillow.  I  could  have  lain  on  the  floor, 
but  I  would  not  have  found  room  for  the  dishes. 

The  day  wore  on.  How  thankful  I  was  when  we  re- 
turned to  the  pier  about  five  o'clock.  We  were  having 
a  cruise  at  night,  but  as  the  Chief  thought  it  might  be 
somewhat  rough  he  told  me  to  clear  off  my  tables.  I 
did  so  with  pleasure. 

As  soon  as  we  had  left  the  pier,  I  went  into  my  room 
to  lie  down  for  a  little  to  see  if  it  would  help  my  sick- 
ness. I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  off  the  clothes  hanging 
on  the  wall.  At  every  heave  of  the  boat  they  swung 
round  in  a  half  circle. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Inwardly 
cursing  whoever  it  was,  I  got  up  and  opened  it.  It  was 
the  Chief. 


THE  MOTOR  LAUNCH  281 

"Miss  Roy,"  he  said  in  a  wheedling  voice,  "you  might 
go  down  to  the  bar  for  a  little,  until  I  go  for'ard  and  get 
a  smoke.  If  you're  sick,  I'll  give  you  some  whisky. 
That'll  help  you." 

"I  don't  want  any  whisky,"  I  answered  crossly.  "I 
suppose  if  I  were  dead  I  wouldn't  get  time  to  stiffen. 
Give  me  the  key." 

He  handed  me  the  key  with  a  laugh. 

"Keep  an  eye  on  things,"  he  said.  "You  understand." 

I  nodded  and  off  he  went.  He  came  back  in  a  short 
time,  but,  as  we  had  got  busy  I  had  to  remain  in  the  bar 
until  the  cruise  was  finished.  It  was  near  eleven  o'clock. 

After  that  there  was  supper.  A  little  after  eleven  I 
was  just  thinking  of  going  off  to  bed  when  the  Chief 
shouted  up  the  stair,  "Miss  Roy,  are  you  there?" 

"Hullo,"  I  answered.  "I'm  here.  What  do  you 
want?" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  turning  round.  "I  thought  you  were 
upstairs.  You  might  give  me  a  hand  with  my  checks." 

We  both  sat  down  at  a  table  near  the  bar.  It  appalled 
me  to  see  what  a  pile  of  checks  there  were.  The  others 
had  finished  supper  and  gone  off  to  bed.  The  stewards 
cleared  the  tables,  then  the  electric  light  was  turned  off. 
Still  we  were  not  half  through.  One  of  the  stewards 
brought  us  an  oil  lamp.  We  counted  and  counted.  We 
would  get  about  half  done,  when  we  would  find  there 
was  some  mistake,  and  have  to  begin  all  over  again. 

"Damn  and  curse  the  infernal  things,"  the  Chief 
would  cry  impatiently,  throwing  them  down  on  the 
table. 

He  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  the  perspiration  was 
streaming  off  his  face. 


282          THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

The  Laura  seemed  strangely  quiet  after  the  noise 
and  bustle  of  the  day.  The  stewards  had  gathered  to 
the  opposite  side  of  the  saloon.  They  were  sitting  in 
darkness  at  a  table,  telling  stories. 

I  could  just  make  out  the  faint  outlines  of  their  faces 
in  the  gloom.  They  spoke  in  low  tones,  but  a  word  or 
two  of  what  they  were  saying  reached  me  occasionally. 
I  felt  the  colour  flame  into  my  face.  I  hoped  earnestly 
that  the  Chief  did  not  hear.  But  no,  he  was  too  much 
worried  about  his  checks,  for  which  I  was  truly  thankful. 

At  last,  coming  on  for  twelve,  we  got  finished.  It 
was  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  I  said  good-night,  and 
went  upstairs  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

DEATH  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER 

What's  life?  at  best  a  wandering  breath; 

When  saddest,  but  a  passing  sigh; 
When  happiest,  but  a  summer  wreath — 

A  sigh  of  roses  floating  by. 

CREDY. 

THE  summer  passed  very  quickly.  I  was  really  sorry 
when  it  came  to  the  end  of  the  season.  Considering 
everything,  I  had  had  a  good  time.  It  was  with  regret 
that  I  bade  them  all  good-bye.  At  the  same  time,  I  was 
happy  to  get  back  to  my  little  bedroom  and  my  books 
again. 

When  I  went  home  they  told  me  that  my  mother  had 
got  sentenced  to  a  long  term  of  imprisonment  in  a  home 
for  ill  behaved  women.  It  was  terrible,  but  it  would 
keep  her  out  of  trouble  for  a  while. 

I  was  rather  relieved  to  hear  it.  I  was  always  in 
dread  of  her  appearing  at  my  work.  She  might  easily 
have  got  to  know  where  I  was. 

They  were  all  very  dull,  as  my  grandfather  had  not 
been  keeping  well  for  some  time.  Poor  old  man,  I  was 
shocked  to  see  him.  He  had  had  to  give  up  his  work, 
and  was  sitting  at  the  kitchen  fire  looking  greatly 
changed. 

Not  being  able  to  work  was  a  blow  to  him.  In  about 
a  week  he  had  to  take  to  his  bed.  The  doctor  came 


284,         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

often,  but  he  said  there  was  nothing  could  be  done.  I 
went  home  every  night.  Sometimes  I  stayed.  They  had 
to  sit  up  all  night  with  him.  Jack,  who  had  got  strange- 
ly quiet  and  thoughtful,  attended  him  faithfully. 

My  grandfather  seemed  to  think  a  lot  about  me.  If  I 
was  not  down,  he  was  sure  to  ask  for  me.  Sometimes  he 
did  not  seem  to  know  the  others  at  all. 

He  quickly  got  worse.  Jack  used  to  lift  him  out  to 
sit  at  the  fire  a  little.  He  would  sit  and  look  round  us 
all.  A  glance  of  recognition  would  come  into  his  eyes 
for  a  minute,  then  he  would  wander  again.  We  all 
spoke  to  him  in  turn.  There  was  such  a  sad,  pathetic 
look  on  his  face  it  made  the  tears  come  into  our  eyes. 

I  don't  think  he  suffered  much  pain.  The  doctor  said 
he  thought  he  would  pass  away  quietly. 

Once  he  asked  us  to  read  a  bit  of  the  Bible  to  him. 
Jack  got  one  at  once,  and  sitting  in  the  bed  beside  him 
as  close  as  he  could,  read  a  few  verses.  He  did  not 
make  any  sign  that  he  heard,  but  when  Jack  had  fin- 
ished, he  lay  quiet  for  a  long  time,  as  if  thinking. 

After  that  Jack  often  read  to  him.  Even  though  he 
did  not  understand,  it  seemed  to  bring  him  peace. 

Even  in  that  sad  time  there  was  discord  in  the  house. 
When  my  grandmother  had  gin,  there  was  always 
trouble.  She  took  the  fancy  into  her  head  that  my 
grandfather  was  being  poisoned. 

Meg  turned  on  her  and  there  was  an  awful  row.     It 

'drove  me  distracted  to  think  they  could  not  be  at  peace 

and  my   grandfather   dying.      Poor   Jack,    he   looked 

broken-hearted.     I  think  he  felt  it  most  of  all.     Very 

often  Meg  and  his  wife  were  quarrelling  too. 

Sometimes  I  had  to  go  down  to  the  doctor's  for  my 


DEATH  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER  285 

grandfather's  medicine.  I  used  to  tell  him  everything. 
I  was  always  sure  of  sympathy,  and  generally  left  him 
with  my  mind  more  at  ease. 

One  night  I  was  startled  by  Mrs.  M coming  into 

my  room.  She  told  me  that  my  brother  and  another 
man  had  been  at  the  door  at  one  o'clock.  They  had 
come  to  tell  me  that  they  thought  my  grandfather  was 
dying.  She  did  not  tell  me  at  the  time  in  case  I  would 
get  a  fright.  Afterwards,  she  began  to  think  that  if 
my  grandfather  died  without  me  being  present  I  might 
be  vexed. 

I  determined  to  go  down  at  once.  Mrs.  M 

tried  to  persuade  me  not  to  go,  but  I  would  not  listen. 
I  thought  perhaps  my  grandfather  might  ask  for  me.  I 
began  to  dress  hurriedly. 

Mr.  M said  I  could  not  walk  home  at  two  in 

the  morning,  alone.  Besides,  it  was  a  very  stormy  night. 
The  snow  was  on  the  ground  to  a  good  depth,  and  still 
falling  heavily.  They  would  not  consent  to  let  me  go, 
unless  I  hired  a  cab  at  their  expense.  I  promised,  there 
being  no  other  way,  but  had  not  the  slightest  intention 
of  letting  them  pay  for  a  cab.  I  hurried  out  and  Mrs. 
M locked  the  door  behind  me. 

The  snow  almost  blinded  me.  I  kept  to  the  middle 
of  the  road.  I  was  afraid  there  might  be  someone  lurk- 
ing near  the  wall.  The  wind  whistled  among  the  trees, 
and  sent  the  shadows  dancing  fantastically  in  front  of 
me.  Every  little  while  I  would  fancy  I  heard  someone 
running  behind  me.  I  would  turn  round  in  terror. 
There  was  nothing  but  the  blinding  snow.  Then  I 
would  run  for  a  bit,  always  looking  back  over  my  shoul- 
der. The  few  lamps  that  were  lit  only  made  the  gloom 


286         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

more  intense.  Then  again  I  would  hear  the  rushing 
sound  behind  me.  I  would  stand,  terror  stricken  and 
look  round,  my  heart  beating  painfully.  Sometimes  I 
thought  I  heard  my  grandfather's  voice  calling  me.  I 
would  run  madly  on,  stumbling  over  everything. 

At  last,  the  lights  of  the  village  came  into  sight.  I 
had  not  met  a  soul  on  the  way.  I  reached  the  house, 
breathless.  Jack,  who  opened  the  door,  could  hardly 
believe  it  was  me.  He  thought  it  very  unwise  of  me. 
My  grandfather  was  just  the  same. 

When  I  entered  the  kitchen  I  was  astonished  to  see 
my  mother  sitting  at  the  fire.  She  spoke  to  me  kindly, 
and  said  I  should  take  off  my  wet  things  at  once. 

I  waited  until  the  morning.  When  I  left  my  grand- 
father was  just  as  he  had  been  the  night  before.  Three 
hours  later  Jack  came  to  tell  me  he  was  dead.  He  had 
passed  away  quietly.  My  mother  was  still  there. 
Meg  had  written  to  tell  her,  and  she  had  been  allowed 
home  because  her  father  was  dying.  Later  in  the  day 
I  went  down. 

My  grandfather  was  laid  in  the  kitchen,  but  I  kept 
away  from  it. 

I  could  not  bear  to  look  at  him.  It  seemed  terrible 
that  I  would  never  see  his  face  in  this  world  again. 

The  day  of  the  funeral  my  mother  was  still  there. 
She  and  my  grandmother  had  got  some  drink  and  were 
quarrelsome. 

There  was  a  little  excuse  for  my  grandmother,  as  my 
grandfather's  death  had  been  a  blow  to  her.  There 
was  none  for  my  mother.  It  made  me  very  unhappy. 

Before  they  took  him  away,  I  looked  my  last  on  him. 
Poor,  kindly  old  man.  He  may  have  been  often  in  the 


DEATH  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER  287 

wrong,  but  God  alone  knew  that  Ke  had  done  his  best. 
Who  can  do  more  ? 

My  mother  had  to  go  back  after  the  funeral,  for 
which  I  was  thankful. 

Jack  walked  up  to  Mrs.  M 's  with  me  that  night. 

He  told  me  how  unhappy  his  life  was.  I  felt  so  sorry 
for  him,  but  what  could  I  say.  There  are  things  that 
one  is  powerless  to  help.  I  was  glad  to  think  that  he 
trusted  me,  and  comforted  him  the  best  way  I  could. 

For  some  time  after,  my  grandmother  was  simply 
unbearable.  She  was  always  taking  a  little  gin,  and  I 
think  it  had  begun  to  affect  her  brain.  The  house  was 
purgatory.  Gradually  she  came  round  a  bit,  but  they 
could  never  be  sure  of  her  for  long. 

The  winter  dragged  on  and  the  spring  drew  near. 
How  wonderful  is  the  effect  of  spring.  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  feel  of  the  air,  and  the  first  little  touch  of 
green  on  the  trees,  that  makes  our  burden  of  care  feel 
lighter. 

I  began  to  feel  hopeful  that  things  would  come  right 
at  home  again.  Always  I  missed  the  kindly  old  face. 
The  voice  that  was  now  still  had  many  a  time  spoken 
harshly  to  me,  but  I  knew  in  my  heart  that  it  was  only 
through  love,  and  the  desire  to  save  me  from  evil. 

I  thought  only  of  the  love,  and  knew  that  where  he 
had  gone  he  would  find  peace. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


JACK  DIES 

Oh  never  is  the  path  we  tread, 
So  drear,  but  if  we  upward  gaze, 

The  favouring  smiles  of  heaven  will  shed 
Some  solace  for  our  darkest  days. 

W.  J.  BROCK. 

WHEN  my  grandfather  died  my  grandmother  sold  a 
lot  of  the  furniture,  and  was  going  to  sell  the  piano  too. 
She  got  a  man  down  to  value  it.  He  offered  her  eight 
pounds  for  it,  but  she  would  not  accept  the  offer.  I 
was  vexed  to  think  of  it  going  out  of  the  house.  I  said 
if  she  would  let  me  have  it  I  would  give  her  seven  and 
pay  it  up  gradually.  She  promised  to  do  so.  I  was 
always  giving  her  a  little  money.  When  I  was  on  the 
Laura  I  gave  her  more. 

At  the  end  of  the  season  Meg  told  me  that  she  had 
been  grumbling  that  I  had  not  been  paying  the  piano 
up  quick  enough.  As  it  was  an  impossibility  for  me  to 
give  her  more,  unless  I  left  myself  penniless,  I  said  she 
had  better  sell  it  to  the  man  for  eight  pounds.  She 
did  so,  and  I  had  the  vexation  of  seeing  it  taken 
away  after  all. 

Jack  began  to  complain  of  neuralgia  pains  in  his  head. 
His  doctor  told  him  to  give  up  his  work  for  a  week  or 
two,  and  get  his  teeth  out.  He  did  so,  but  did  not  get 

288 


JACK  DIES  289 

any  better.  In  fact,  he  got  worse  every  day.  I  did  not 
care  for  the  doctor  they  had.  I  was  always  at  them  to 
get  Doctor  Granger. 

My  sister-in-law  would  not  bother  because  Doctor 
Granger  had  spoken  sharply  to  her  once,  when  she  had 
not  done  exactly  as  he  had  told  here.  I  asked  Meg  if 
she  would  get  him.  She  refused  too. 

"If  his  wife  does  not  bother,  we  needn't,"  she 
answered.  I  wondered  how  they  coulH  speak  like  that 
and  poor  Jack  so  ill.  When  I  went  home  I  generally 
went  straight  into  the  room  first  to  see  Jack.  That  was 
a  terrible  fault.  When  I  did  go  into  the  kitchen  the 
others  would  hardly  speak  to  me.  It  vexed  me  very 
much. 

Every  time  I  went  down  I  thought  Jack  looked  worse. 
He  had  got  pale  and  thin.  He  had  big,  innocent  look- 
ing grey  eyes,  with  blond  lashes.  Now  there  was  a 
look  of  such  wistful  sadness  in  them  that  almost  made 
me  cry  to  look  at  him.  He  did  not  lie  in  bed  much, 
but  just  stayed  at  the  fire.  Occasionally  he  would  walk 
the  length  of  the  kitchen.  Sometimes  the  pain  in  his 
head  would  be  dreadful.  I  did  not  see  him  at  his  worst, 
but  they  told  me  that  he  was  sometimes  wishing  he  were 
dead. 

One  day  that  he  had  been  feeling  very  weak,  and  had 
lain  in  bed,  my  grandmother  got  the  worse  for  drink. 
She  began  to  hammer  at  the  kitchen  sink  with  an  axe,  to 
try  and  break  it.  Meg  and  Ann  could  do  nothing  with 
her.  Jack  had  to  get  up  out  of  his  bed,  and  go  into  the 
kitchen  to  beg  her  to  stop. 

That  was  the  kind  of  thing  he  had  to  bear,  instead 
of  being  comforted  and  taken  care  of. 


290         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  went  down  as  often  as  I  could,  because  I  thought 
he  liked  to  see  me.  It  always  saddened  me. 

One  day  I  said  to  my  sister-in-law  that  I  would  go 
for  Doctor  Granger.  I  asked  Jack  if  he  would  like 
to  see  him.  He  said  he  would.  I  left  word  for  him 
to  call.  He  came  soon  after.  When  he  came  out  of 
the  bedroom  he  looked  very  serious.  He  would  not 
speak  to  my  sister-in-law,  but  took  me  out  of  the  room 
to  tell  me. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked  anxiously. 

"I'm  afraid  I  can  do  nothing  for  him,  Jean,"  he  said 
gravely.  "It's  consumption.  If  I  had  been  called  sooner 
I  might  have  been  able  to  help  him." 

I  was  terribly  shocked.  I  had  not  thought  it  was 
so  bad  as  that.  "Can  nothing  be  done?"  I  asked  un- 
steadily. 

"Well,"  he  said,  trying  to  speak  hopefully,  "I'll  do 
my  best,  dear.  I'll  make  arrangements  to  get  him  into 
a  house  at  once." 

When  he  had  gone,  the  others  came  quickly  to  ask 
me  what  he  had  said.  When  I  told  them,  they  began 
to  cry.  Jack  did  not  realise  he  was  so  bad,  and  was 
hopeful  of  getting  better. 

We  could  not  stay  long  in  the  room  with  him,  it  was 
so  cold.  The  door  and  window  both  had  to  be  kept 
open. 

A  day  or  two  after  I  went  down  to  the  doctor's  for 
some  medicine  Jack  was  to  get. 

"Jean,"  he  said  kindly,  "you'll  have  to  be  brave. 
Your  brother  is  just  dying." 

Something  seemed  to  be  choking  me.  We  were  wait- 
ing for  the  ticket  to  get  him  into  the  home.  A  little 


JACK  DIES  291 

hope  had  crept  into  our  hearts  that  perhaps  he  might 
get  better  after  all.  I  could  not  keep  the  tears  from 
running  down  my  cheeks. 

"You  mustn't  be  unhappy,  dear,"  said  the  doctor. 
"He'll  be  better  away.  If  he  had  lived  he  would  have 
suffered  all  his  life." 

I  felt  heartbroken.  I  reproached  myself  for  not 
having  tried  to  help  him  sooner.  What  would  become 
of  the  two  little  girls  he  had?  His  whole  thought  had 
been  to  try  to  make  their  lives  better  than  his  had  been. 
For  their  sake  he  had  struggled  on.  I  left  him  that 
night  with  a  sad  heart. 

Next  morning  I  got  word  of  his  death.  Strange,  no 
matter  how  much  we  are  prepared  for  it,  death  is  always 
startling.  I  think  somehow  that  hope  never  dies  while 
there  is  breath  in  the  body. 

Now  that  he  was  gone,  I  realised  that  I  had  had  more 
in  common  with  him  than  any  of  the  others.  He  had 
been  very  fond  of  nature  and  had  always  wished  to  live 
in  the  country. 

In  the  evening  I  went  home.  The  darkness  of  the 
house  caused  by  the  drawn  blinds  sent  a  chill  to  my 
heart.  I  walked  straight  into  the  little  bedroom  where 
I  knew  he  would  be.  What  a  look  of  calm,  innocent 
peace  was  on  his  face ! 

The  long  eyelashes  lay  on  his  cheeks,  but  the  wistful 
yearning  look  I  had  last  seen  in  his  eyes  still  haunted 
me.  I  saw  him  through  a  mist  of  blinding  tears.  My 
heart  was  filled  with  remorse  that  I  had  not  tried  to  be 
more  to  him. 

I  knew  just  as  well  as  if  he  had  told  me  that  he  wished 
me  to  love  and  care  for  his  two  little  girls,  Anna  and 


292          THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Jess.  I  made  a  mental  vow  that  for  his  sake  and  the 
children  I  would  try  to  keep  peace  in  the  house. 

Meg  had  sent  word  to  my  mother  that  Jack  was 
dead.  She  thought  if  she  did  not  do  that,  my  mother 
might  come  down  afterwards  and  wreck  the  house.  I 
had  just  been  in  a  short  time  when  I  heard  her  voice 
at  the  door. 

She  had  to  go  back  that  night,  for  which  I  was 
thankful.  She  was  very  well  dressed  and  had  been 
for  some  time. 

That  evening  I  went  about  with  my  sister-in-law,  and 
helped  her  to  make  arrangements.  My  grandmother 
was  very  angry,  and  watched  me  coming  out  and  in,  with 
a  look  of  fury  on  her  face.  Somehow,  that  night  I 
did  not  care.  The  greater  sorrow  had  swallowed  up 
my  fear  of  her. 

On  the  day  of  the  funeral  I  felt  very  nervous.  The 
first  thing  I  noticed  when  I  got  home  was  that  my 
grandmother  was  the  worse  of  drink.  Meg  and  Ann 
said  she  had  been  quarrelling  with  them  all  day. 

My  sister-in-law  asked  me  to  go  a  message  for  her. 
When  I  was  passing  the  kitchen  door,  my  grandmother 
opened  it  quickly,  a  look  of  awful  anger  on  her  face. 
I  knew  there  was  something  coming.  I  began  to 
shake. 

"You're  the  chief  mourner,"  she  cried  sneeringly,  and 
spat  viciously  at  me.  I  put  up  my  hand  quickly  to 
shield  my  face.  She  began  to  scratch  my  hand. 

I  opened  the  door,  got  outside,  and  shut  it  again,  then 
ran  down  the  stairs.  I  was  so  agitated  I  could  scarcely 
stand.  I  then  waited  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  until  I 
became  a  little  calmer,  then  I  went  for  the  message. 


JACK  DIES  293 

When  I  returned  to  the  house,  Meg  said  that  my 
grandmother  had  been  trying  to  strike  Ann.  She  and 
my  sister-in-law  had  to  hold  her  back.  Poor  Ann  was 
in  a  terrible  state.  She  had  got  much  worse  of  late, 
and  was  hardly  ever  without  pain.  Some  nights  she 
lay  in  bed  for  hours  crying.  My  grandmother  had  got 
the  idea  into  her  head  that  she  and  Meg  were  plotting 
against  her. 

We  were  expecting  my  brother  and  his  wife  from 
Glasgow,  for  the  funeral.  My  mother  arrived  about 
an  hour  before  the  time  fixed,  and  my  brother  soon 
after.  I  noticed  with  alarm  that  my  mother  had  had 
some  drink.  My  brother  got  her  advised  to  stay  at 
home  with  my  grandmother,  who  was  not  going  to  the 
service,  but  just  as  the  last  cab  was  driving  from  the 
door  she  ran  down  and  jumped  in.  Unfortunately,  I 
happened  to  be  in  that  one. 

A  good  many  people  were  already  in  the  church 
when  we  reached  it.  We  all  sat  in  the  front  seat,  with 
the  exception  of  my  mother,  who  was  some  distance 
behind.  The  solemn  words  of  the  burial  service,  echo- 
ing through  the  quiet  church,  made  me  feel  somehow 
nearer  to  Jack. 

"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life.  He  that  be- 
lieveth  in  me  shall  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life." 

The  words  brought  comfort  to  my  heart.  Suddenly, 
there  was  a  burst  of  maudlin  sobbing. 

I  knew  at  once  who  it  was,  and  in  that  moment  I  was 
glad  that  Jack  was  dead.  For  him  all  shame  was  over. 
Even  in  that  hour,  she  must  attract  people's  attention  to 
herself.  I  would  willingly  have  taken  my  place  beside 
Jack. 


294         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

I  wanted  to  go  to  the  cemetery  to  see  the  last  of  him, 
but  just  when  I  was  in  the  cab,  my  mother  stepped  in  be- 
hind me.  I  got  out,  and  made  some  excuse  about  having 
to  go  home  to  do  something. 

When  I  got  home,  my  grandmother  was  as  bad  as 
ever.  I  awaited  my  mother's  return  in  fear  and  trem- 
bling. 

It  was  some  time  before  they  got  back.  There  was 
tea  made  for  them  all.  My  mother  got  worse.  The 
afternoon  dragged  on.  Suddenly  my  mother  expressed 
her  intention  of  staying  for  the  week-end.  The  thought 
of  what  might  happen  alarmed  me  very  much.  My 
brother  and  his  wife  were  leaving  for  Glasgow  in  about 
an  hour.  I  too  was  going  back  that  night  to  Mrs. 

M 's,  and  taking  little  Anna  with  me  for  a  few  days. 

I  could  not  think  of  the  others  being  left  with  my 
mother. 

I  got  Meg,  and  signed  to  my  brother  to  come  into  the 
bedroom  to  see  what  we  could  do.  He  agreed  with  us 
that  my  mother  could  not  possibly  be  allowed  to  stay 
and  kick  up  a  row,  but  he  could  not  form  any  plan  of 
how  we  were  to  get  her  away.  We  saw  plainly  that  he 
meant  to  slip  away  with  his  wife,  and  leave  us  to  man- 
age the  best  way  we  could. 

I  told  Meg  I  could  not  think  of  leaving  her  and  Ann 
to  fight  it  out,  and  that  I  would  phone  to  the  Governor 
of  the  home  where  my  mother  came  from,  and  see  if 
he  could  do  anything. 

It  was  a  fearful  wet  night.  Before  I  was  long  out, 
I  was  soaked  through.  The  Governor  of  the  home  told 
me,  through  the  phone,  that  her  time  was  served  there. 
As  she  was  staying  on  voluntarily,  he  could  do  nothing. 


JACK  DIES  295 

What  to  do  next  I  did  not  know.  Then  I  thought  of 
the  doctor.  He  had  told  me  to  be  sure  to  come  to  him  if 
I  were  in  trouble.  I  found  him  and  told  him  all  about 
it.  He  was  greatly  astonished  and  full  of  sympathy 
for  me.  He  urged  me  to  go  to  a  friend  of  his,  that  was 
in  a  position  to  advise  me.  I  promised  to  go.  After  I 
had  left  the  doctor  I  felt  that  I  could  not  go  to  a 
stranger  and  tell  him  my  story. 

It  would  be  too  humiliating.  The  only  other  way 
was  the  police  officer,  so  I  went  there.  I  hated  to  go,  but 
I  had  to  think  of  others  besides  myself  just  then.  The 
Inspector  said  they  would  bring  a  cab  and  take  her  away. 

I  hurried  home  to  tell  the  others.  My  mother  was 
now  wild  with  drink,  which  had  the  effect  of  calming  my 
grandmother.  In  about  ten  minutes  we  heard  the  noise 
of  the  cab.  The  Inspector  came  into  the  room  first,  to 
see  if  we  would  charge  her.  They  knew  her  very  well. 
My  brother  said  yes,  to  take  her  away. 

The  Inspector  and  another  policeman  went  to  the 
kitchen  and  told  her  she  was  to  go  with  them.  She  be- 
came like  a  fiend,  and  began  to  curse  and  scream.  She 
struggled  and  used  dreadful  language. 

They  quickly  took  her  away. 

My  grandmother  came  into  the  room,  her  face  very 
white,  but  quite  her  old  self  again.  The  evil  mood  had 
left  her  altogether.  She  spoke  in  a  quiet,  subdued  voice. 

And  so  it  ended.  I  have  had  many  an  unhappy  day 
in  my  life.  That,  I  think,  was  the  most  dreadful  of 
them  all. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

OUR    HOME   BROKEN    UP 

Oppress'd  with  grief,  oppress 'd  with  care 
A  burden  more  than  I  can  bear 

I  set  me  down  and  sigh; 
O  life,  thou  art  a  galling  load, 
Along  a  rough,  a  weary  road, 

To  wretches  such  as  I. 

BURNS. 

MEG  had  been  keeping  company  for  some  time  with  a 
young  man.  I  did  not  care  for  him  much.  He  was  too 
fond  of  a  dram. 

She  had  not  been  keeping  well  of  late.  The  long 
strain  had  told  on  her.  She  would  have  left  the  house 
and  gone  to  work  somewhere  else,  but  every  time  she 
mentioned  it  Ann  began  to  cry.  Ann  had  a  miserable 
time  of  it,  but  never  complained.  She  had  got  so  bad 
that  she  could  only  get  about  the  house  with  a  crutch. 
Sometimes,  when  she  was  suffering  more  than  usual  I 
have  heard  her  wish  that  God  would  take  her  away. 
But  generally  she  was  cheery  and  bright,  and  took  an  in- 
terest in  every  little  thing  we  told  her. 

It  was  a  marvel  to  me  how  she  could  bear  life  at  all. 
I  think  in  her  case  I  would  have  gone  mad  or  committed 
suicide. 

Meg's  young  man,  Willie,  came  up  to  the  house  some- 

296 


OUR  HOME  BROKEN  UP  297 

times.  My  grandmother  was  pleasant  enough  to  him, 
but  when  he  was  not  there  she  said  awful  things  of  both 
him  and  Meg.  It  made  me  shiver  to  listen  to  her. 
Often  she  seemed  to  be  possessed  of  a  devil.  Of  course 
she  was  not  always  like  that.  At  times  she  was  as  nice 
as  could  be. 

Meg  said  that  Willie  wanted  to  get  married,  as  he 
was  tired  of  lodgings.  I  was  glad  to  hear  it,  in  a  way. 
I  wanted  to  see  Meg  settled,  so  that  if  anything  hap- 
pened to  my  grandmother  Ann  would  not  be  homeless. 
I  thought  that  if  Willie  were  married  it  might  settle 
him. 

Meg  told  my  grandmother  when  she  was  in  a  good 
mood.  She  promised  to  give  them  a  bedroom  for  a 
small  sum  a  week,  until  they  would  get  some  furniture 
gathered.  That  seemed  all  right,  so  the  marriage  was 
hurried  on. 

The  evening  arrived  when  it  was  to  take  place.  We 
all  got  dressed.  It  was  coming  near  the  time  when  we 
were  to  be  at  the  church,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  Willie. 
His  brother  went  in  search  of  him. 

We  were  getting  anxious.  We  thought  he  was  drink- 
ing somewhere.  Meg  wondered  if  she  should  give  him 
up  then,  rather  than  repent  of  it  later  on.  Almost  on 
the  time  he  came  up  the  stair.  We  noticed  at  once  that 
he  was  half  drunk.  There  was  no  use  of  saying  any- 
thing. We  just  got  into  the  cab  and  drove  off  to  the 
church. 

He  managed  to  articulate  the  answers,  and  they  were 
married  for  better  or  worse.  Poor  Meg,  I  felt  sorry 
for.  It  was  an  unhappy  wedding  day.  About  the  mid- 
dle of  the  night  he  got  up  raving  like  a  madman.  He 


298          THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

wanted  more  drink  and  as  there  was  none  in  the  house 
he  went  fair  mad.  What  a  struggle  we  had  to  induce 
him  to  go  back  to  bed.  Meg  cried  like  to  break  her 
heart. 

When  he  resumed  his  work,  things  were  not  so  bad. 

One  day  Meg  met  the  young  man  I  used  to  be  friend- 
ly with.  He  had  a  friend  with  him,  and  she  asked  them 
both  down  on  the  Monday  evening.  She  wanted  me 
down  too.  I  was  not  caring  at  all  to  see  them,  but  I 
promised  to  be  there,  to  please  her. 

My  grandmother  happened  to  be  in  one  of  her  bad 
moods  that  night.  She  stayed  in  the  kitchen.  Meg 
made  some  tea.  About  half  past  eight,  my  grand- 
mother threw  open  the  room  door  and  told  me  angrily 
that  it  was  time  I  was  home.  I  said  I  could  wait  a  little 
longer.  She  glared  at  me  and  went  out.  It  worried 
me  so  much  that  in  a  short  time  I  rose  to  go.  The  two 
young  men  rose  also.  They  said  as  they  were  going  my 
way,  they  would  accompany  me.  Meg  got  up  to  see  us 
out.  Just  as  we  were  passing  the  kitchen  door  my 
grandmother  threw  it  open  and  looked  at  us.  I  was 
in  front.  The  young  men  were  immediately  behind  me. 
Suddenly  she  stepped  forward  and  spat  full  in  my  face. 
I  was  terribly  mortified  at  being  insulted  before  stran- 
gers, and  passed  on  without  a  word.  The  young  men 
looked  at  each  other,  then  at  me,  but  said  nothing.  I 
felt  so  wretched  that  I  scarcely  heard  a  word  they  said 
on  the  way  home.  I  was  overwhelmed  with  shame. 

Soon  after,  my  grandmother  took  a  notion  to  sell  all 
the  furniture.  The  things  were  not  worth  much,  but 
they  had  made  our  home.  She  engaged  a  man  to  bring 
a  cart,  and  take  them  away  to  a  second-hand  shop. 


OUR  HOME  BROKEN  UP  299 

Everything  went,  with  the  exception  of  her  bed,  some 
dishes  she  needed,  and  a  box  for  her  clothes. 

When  I  went  down  in  the  evening  Meg  called  me 
into  her  room.  She  was  looking  very  ill.  There  was 
not  a  thing  in  the  room.  My  grandmother  had  even 
had  the  grate  taken  out.  Meg  had  had  to  put  four 
bricks  in  the  empty  fireplace,  to  build  a  fire  on  to  make 
Willie's  tea.  The  bed  was  gone  and  she  had  spread 
some  clothes  in  the  corner  where  they  were  to  sleep. 

Her  eyes  were  swollen  with  crying.  Ann  was  sitting 
on  a  box  in  a  corner,  crying  too.  What  could  I  say  that 
would  help  or  alleviate  such  misery?  I  felt  utterly  sick 
at  heart.  The  hopelessness  of  it  all  crushed  me. 

I  went  into  the  kitchen.  My  grandmother  was  there. 
She  glared  at  me  but  did  not  speak.  I  returned  to  the 
room  beside  Meg  and  Ann.  That  night  when  I  re- 
turned to  Mrs.  M 's  I  could  not  sleep.  It  was  bit- 
terly cold,  and  the  thought  of  them  lying  on  the  floor 
haunted  me. 

Next  night  I  went  down  to  see  how  they  had  got  on. 
My  grandmother,  they  told  me,  had  gone  away  to  stay 
with  a  woman  she  knew.  They  were  very  anxious  about 
her.  Ann  was  at  the  window  continually  watching  if 
she  could  see  her  passing. 

Meg  managed  to  get  a  grate,  a  bed,  and  a  few  other 
things  that  were  necessary. 

At  the  end  of  the  fortnight  my  grandmother  came  to 
the  door  and  asked  Meg  if  she  would  let  her  come  back. 
Meg  said  she  could  if  she  liked.  She  had  told  people 
awful  things  about  us  but  we  tried  not  to  care. 

Next  day  she  came  with  her  things.  She  was  very 
much  softened,  and  her  old  kindly  self  again.  Whether 


300         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

she  regretted  what  she  had  done  or  not  we  never  knew. 
She  never  mentioned  it.  She  was  very  fond  of  Jack's 
children  and  I  think  she  was  glad  to  get  back  to  see 
them.  Everything  was  quiet  for  a  time,  then  a  quarrel 
arose  among  them.  I  don't  know  what  it  was  about. 
Some  trifling  thing  no  doubt.  The  next  thing  was  that 
they  were  all  separated. 

Meg  hired  a  furnished  room  for  my  grandmother 
and  Ann,  and  another  for  herself  and  Willie.  My 
sister-in-law  was  left  in  the  house  alone  with  the  chil- 
dren. 

That  was  the  breaking  up  of  our  home.  After  that, 
Meg  and  my  sister-in-law  ceased  to  be  on  speaking 
terms. 

Every  time  I  went  down  I  visited  the  three  houses. 
Meg  thought  I  was  carrying  news  to  my  sister-in-law 
about  them.  My  sister-in-law  thought  I  went  to  her  to 
get  news  to  tell  the  others.  I  had  to  put  up  with  a  great 
deal  from  both  of  them.  Between  them  they  managed  to 
make  me  miserable,  but  I  kept  to  my  purpose  to  try  to 
keep  friendship  among  them  all.  Sometimes  I  almost 
succeeded,  when  a  chance  word  undid  all  my  work,  and 
the  feud  was  as  great  as  ever.  I  often  wondered  how 
long  I  would  have  courage  to  persevere. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

GRANNY  AND  THE  CINEMA 

The  moments  past,  if  thou  are  wise,  retrieve, 
With  pleasant  memory  of  the  bliss  they  gave, 
The  present  hours  in  present  mirth  employ 
And  bribe  the  future  with  the  hopes  joy. 

PRIOT. 

AFTER  the  separation  my  grandmother  became  quiet 
and  peaceable,  except  for  an  occasional  flare  out.  She 
had  got  very  fond  of  going  to  the  picture  house. 

"Well,"  she  would  say,  looking  from  Meg  to  me, 
"are  ye's  for  the  pictures  the  night?" 

"We  are  intending  that,"  Meg  would  answer. 

"I  would  have  gone,  if  I'd  been  ready,"  she  would 
remark,  glancing  questioningly  at  Meg. 

"Hurry  up,  then,  and  put  on  your  bonnet  and  dol- 
man," Meg  would  say.  "We'll  wait  for  you." 

If  Meg  happened  to  mention  in  the  morning  that  she 
was  thinking  of  going  to  the  pictures,  my  grandmother 
tidies  herself  up  and  puts  on  her  boots  after  dinner,  to 
be  in  readiness  if  she  is  asked.  It  amused  Ann  greatly 
to  watch  her  sly  preparations. 

To  my  grandmother  they  are  not  pictures,  but  reality. 
She  is  very  deaf  and  speaks  exceedingly  loud.  The  re- 
marks she  passes  on  what  she  sees  keep  the  people  who 
are  sitting  in  her  vicinity  pretty  lively. 

301 


302         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

Charlie  Chaplin  is  first  favourite  with  her.  The 
"Wee  man"  she  calls  him. 

"Is  the  wee  man  to  be  there  the  night?"  she  would 
ask. 

"No,"  Meg  would  answer,  "he's  not  to  be  to- 
night." 

"Is  he  no'?"  she  would  say,  in  a  disappointed  voice. 
"No,  he'll  be  up  about  Glesca',  I  suppose.  They'll  no' 
stan'  him  enough  drink  about  here.  He's  blin'  every 
time  I  see  him.  It  would  fit  him  better  to  buy  a  pair  o' 
trousers,  instead  o'  drinking  it." 

One  night  we  took  her  to  see  Trilby.  Svengali,  she 
was  mortally  afraid  of. 

"Don't  look  at  hum,"  she  whispered  warningly  to 
Meg.  "If  he  catches  your  eye,  ye're  done  for.  It's  the 
divil  sure  enough." 

It  was  a  great  puzzle  to  her  where  they  kept  all  the 
horses  and  wild  beasts. 

"Ay,"  she  would  say,  in  an  awe-struck  voice,  "ye'll 
see  what'll  happen  some  night.  They'll  break  out 
among  the  folk  and  make  a  scatterment." 

It  filled  her  with  wonder  to  see  it  raining  in  the  pic- 
tures, and  quite  dry  outside.  One  night  a  terrible  snow- 
storm was  shown,  just  before  we  came  out. 

"Isn't  that  terrible?"  she  said  anxiously  to  Meg. 
"We'll  be  soaked  to  the  skin  before  we're  home,  an' 
we've  no  umbrell'." 

When  we  got  to  the  street,  it  happened  to  be  a  lovely 
moonlight  night. 

She  looked  all  around  her,  immensely  astonished. 

"A  fine  night,"  she  exclaimed,  "an'  a  perfect  hurri- 
can'  in  there."  She  shook  her  head  solemnly. 


OUR  HOME  BROKEN  UP  80S 

"It's  the  divil's  work.  Some  glamour  they  throw 
over  ye.  I'll  never  go  back." 

We  knew  quite  well  that  the  next  time  we  would  ask 
her  she  would  be  as  eager  as  ever  to  go. 

When  she  got  home,  she  related  to  Ann  all  she  had 
seen. 

"But  the  folk  are  not  there.  It's  only  a  picture,"  said 
Ann,  with  a  laugh. 

"A  picter !"  my  grandmother  cried  scornfully.  "May- 
be ye  think  I'm  a  fool.  I've  the  po'er  of  my  eyesight 
yet,  thank  God,  though  I  am  deaf,  an'  don't  hear  them 
speaking.  Picter  indeed!  No,  faith,  don't  think  ye'll 
take  a  rise  out  of  me." 

She  sits  up  in  bed  in  her  red  flannel  jacket,  her  woolen 
mutch  round  her  old,  lined  face,  and  argues  with  Ann 
for  ever  so  long. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

FINIS 

A  deep  mysterious  sympathy  doth  bind 
The  human  heart  to  nature's  beauties  all; 
We  know  not,  guess  not,  of  its  force  and  kind 
But  what  it  is  we  know  when  ill  doth  fall 
Upon  us,  when  our  hearts  are  sear'd  and  riven, 
We'll  seek  the  forest  lands  for  peace  and  heaven. 

SIR  E.  BRIDGES. 

THE  winter  passed  slowly.  In  March  the  doctor 
went  away.  I  felt  desolate.  Now  that  my  only  real 
friend  had  gone,  I  realised  how  much  he  had  been  to 
me.  I  missed  dreadfully  the  kindly  words  of  sympathy 
and  advice. 

I  had  lots  of  so-called  friends,  but  not  one  that  I 
could  trust.  I  tried  to  bury  myself  in  my  books,  but 
for  once  they  had  lost  their  charm  for  me.  I  wondered 
sadly  if  there  was  anyone  in  the  world  who  felt  so 
much  alone  as  I  did. 

The  Spring  came,  but  it  brought  me  little  happiness. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  Summer  I  went  back  to  the 
Laura.  I  felt  utterly  indifferent  as  to  where  I  was. 
The  life  and  sparkle  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  every- 
thing. The  days  were  very  monotonous. 

Our  busy  season  came  on.  We  had  not  such  a  bad 
time  of  it,  as  the  weather  was  fine.  While  we  were 
there,  war  was  declared.  The  men  could  speak  of  noth- 
ing else. 

Early  one  Sunday  Isa  and  I  lay  in  bed,  wondering  if 

304 


FINIS  305 

it  was  time  to  get  up.  We  were  alarmed  by  hearing 
heavy  feet  coming  down  the  stair  and  English  voices 
shouting  for  the  Captain.  The  Captain  left  his  room 
and  the  noise  of  their  feet  died  away  in  the  direction  of 
for'ard. 

Wondering  what  it  could  be,  Isa  and  I  dressed  our- 
selves quickly,  and  went  along  to  find  out.  We  learnt 
they  were  Government  Officials,  to  take  away  our  re- 
serve men.  We  had  two  on  board.  One  was  a  bache- 
lor, and  the  other  a  married  man. 

They  were  very  much  startled,  being  just  awakened 
out  of  their  sleep.  The  married  man  pleaded  for  per- 
mission to  go  and  see  his  wife  and  children.  When  told 
that  he  could  not  be  allowed,  he  burst  into  tears.  Poor 
fellow,  he  never  got  home.  He  was  killed  at  the  very 
beginning. 

When  I  went  home  after  finishing  on  the  Laura,  I 
found  that  my  brother-in-law  had  grown  queer.  He 
could  not  work.  Meg  said  he  hardly  ever  slept  at  all, 
and  would  get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  go  out. 
She  had  sometimes  to  follow  him,  in  case  he  might  meet 
with  an  accident.  She  looked  perfectly  worn  out.  Lit- 
tle Anna  was  staying  with  her  for  company.  One  night 
I  felt  so  sorry  for  her  I  said  I  would  stay  with  her  for 
the  night. 

She,  Anna,  and  I,  slept  in  the  kitchen  bed.  Willie 
was  in  the  room. 

We  had  been  lying  about  half  an  hour,  when  I  was 
startled  by  seeing  him  standing  at  our  bedside  staring 
at  us.  In  a  minute  he  went  away.  It  frightened  me 
very  much.  Meg  went  into  the  room  and  persuaded 
him  to  lie  down,  then  came  back  beside  us. 


306         THE  FIELDS  OF  THE  FATHERLESS 

We  were  no  sooner  settled  than  he  was  at  our  bedside 
again,  peering  intently  in.  I  was  so  terrified  that  I  sat 
up  in  bed  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  He  kept  going  from 
the  room  to  the  kitchen  all  the  time.  Meg  said  that 
was  how  he  always  went  on.  She  turned  up  the  gas, 
but  he  would  not  let  it  remain,  but  kept  turning  it  out. 
Occasionally,  he  would  throw  open  the  window,  and 
shout  out  to  someone  he  evidently  imagined  was  there. 
I  thought  it  would  never  come  morning. 

Some  time  after  he  was  sent  to  the  Asylum,  Meg 
brought  Ann  and  my  grandmother  to  stay  with  her. 
About  three  months  after,  she  got  word  that  Willie  had 
died  suddenly.  Meg  went  out  to  work,  and  they  man- 
aged to  keep  on  the  little  house. 

One  day  my  grandmother  had  a  return  of  her  evil 
moods.  She  flew  at  Meg  and  Ann  so  savagely  that 
Meg  had  to  run  to  the  street  for  help.  My  grand- 
mother brought  the  police  in,  and  told  them  awful 
stories.  They  advised  her  to  quiet  down,  and  be  thank- 
ful she  was  so  well  off.  We  felt  the  shame  of  it  terribly, 
especially  as  we  had  been  so  good  to  her.  My  grand- 
mother went  off  for  three  days,  then  she  came  back. 
They  took  her  back  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

I  try  to  keep  friendship  among  them  all.  Sometimes 
I  managed  it  for  a  time.  Then  I  would  find  them  at 
daggers  drawn.  It  caused  me  a  great  deal  of  unhappi- 
ness.  At  times  I  was  down  in  the  depths.  Sometimes 
when  I  returned  to  my  little  room,  I  wondered  if  I 
should  give  up  the  struggle.  I  watch  the  stars  for  a 
while,  then  I  wonder  how  I  could  take  any  notice  of  the 
cutting  things  that  have  been  said  to  me.  They  are 
mere  empty  words.  I  will  not  heed  them.  Then  it 


FINIS  307 

seems  to  me  that  among  the  stars,  but  somehow  nearer, 
I  see  a  sad,  pale  face,  with  wistful  grey  eyes.  They 
smile  encouragingly  at  me,  and  in  the  smile  there  is  in- 
finite tenderness  and  love.  The  pale  lips  seem  to  move, 
as  if  giving  me  messages  of  love  for  his  dear  ones  left 
behind. 

A  gentle  wind  sighs  in  the  trees,  up  in  the  wood.  The 
leaves  rustle  with  a  queer  whispering  sound,  and  I  feel 
that  I  am  not  alone.  The  moon  rises  full  and  glorious 
from  behind  the  wood,  and  my  troubles  slip  from  me, 
in  my  immense  wonder  at  what  is  beyond. 

The  summer  has  come  again,  and  with  it  a  return  of 
happiness. 

I  find  more  pleasure  in  my  books  than  ever.  Who 
could  be  unhappy  for  long,  with  nature  round  giving 
fresh  life  and  hope? 

In  the  time  when  I  felt  most  miserable,  I  have  often 
wished  I  was  one  who  could  forget  easily.  Now  it  is 
different  with  me. 

I  have  not  the  slightest  desire  to  make  more  friends. 
I  do  not  forget  ever.  Indeed,  my  happiness  lies  in  re- 
membrance. Life  is  full  of  interest,  and  the  world  is 
not  such  a  big  place  after  all.  I  have  the  greatest  gift 
that  can  be  given  to  anyone  on  earth,  a  love  of  nature. 

I  find  my  gold  in  the  glory  of  a  sunset.  My  jewels 
in  the  lovely  flowers.  The  blue  of  the  sky,  as  a  back- 
ground, to  the  beautiful  trees,  is  a  delightful  picture 
that  never  palls.  I  am  awakened  in  the  morning  by  the 
finest  Orchestra  in  the  world — the  joyous  singing  of  the 
little  birds.  Who  can  call  me  poor? 

THE  END. 


